.1,. 


VLE 


HN  FOX 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

Neil  C.  Needhara 


&   /4^t*?t 


ERSKINE  DALE  — PIONEER 


BY  JOHN  FOX,  JR. 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

THE  HEART   OF  THE  HILLS 

THE  TRAIL   OF  THE  LONESOME   PINE 

THE    LITTLE     SHEPHERD     OF     KINGDOM 
COME 

CRITTENDEN.    A  Kentucky  Story  of  Love   and 
War 

THE    KENTUCKIANS    AND     A     KNIGHT    OF 
THE   CUMBERLAND 

A    MOUNTAIN    EUROPA    AND    A     CUMBER- 
LAND  VENDETTA 

CHRISTMAS  EVE  ON  LONESOME,  HELL-FER- 
SARTAIN   AND   IN    HAPPY   VALLEY 

BLUE   GRASS   AND   RHODODENDRON 
Outdoor  Life  in  Kentucky 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


The  third  stayed  behind  a  moment,  bowed  over  her  hand,  and  kissed  it 


ERSKINE  DALE 
PIONEER 


BY 

JOHN  FOX,  JR. 


ILLUSTRATED    BY    F.    C.    YOHN 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S   SONS 
NEW  YORK :::::::::::::::::::::  1920 


COPYRIGHT,  1919,  1920,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published  September,  1920 


T5 
IT< 
3 

ILLUSTRATIONS 

The  third  stayed  behind  a  moment,  bowed  over  her 

hand,  and  kissed  it Frontispiece 

FACINS   PAGE 

"The  messenger  is  the  son  of  a  king" 36 

"I  don't  want  nobody  to  take  up  for  me"    ....  56 

"Four  more  days,"  he  cried,  "and  we'll  be  there!"       .  loo 

"That  is  Kahtoo's  talk,  but  this  is  mine"     .      .      .      .  132 

The  sword  blades  clashed,  Erskine  whipping  back  and 

forth  in  a  way  to  make  a  swordsman  groan      .      .     168 

"Make  no  noise,  and  don't  move" 238 

To  his  bewilderment  he  found  Barbara  at  his  mother's 

bedside 256 


861641 


ERSKINE  DALE  — PIONEER 


ERSKINE   DALE-PIONEER 

I 

STREAKS  of  red  ran  upward,  and  in  answer 
the  great  gray  eye  of  the  wilderness  lifted 
its  mist-fringed  lid.  From  the  green  depths 
came  the  fluting  of  a  lone  wood-thrush. 
Through  them  an  owl  flew  on  velvety  wings 
for  his  home  in  the  heart  of  a  primeval  pop- 
lar. A  cougar  leaped  from  the  low  limb  of 
an  oak,  missed,  and  a  shuddering  deer  streaked 
through  a  forest  aisle,  bounded  into  a  little 
clearing,  stopped  rigid,  sniffed  a  deadlier 
enemy,  and  whirled  into  the  wilderness  again. 
Still  deeper  in  the  depths  a  boy  with  a  bow 
and  arrow  and  naked,  except  for  scalp-lock 
and  breech-clout,  sprang  from  sleep  and 
again  took  flight  along  a  buffalo  trail.  Again, 
not  far  behind  him,  three  grunting  savages 
were  taking  up  the  print  of  his  moccasined 
feet. 

An   hour  before   a   red   flare   rose   within 

3 


4  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

the  staked  enclosure  that  was  reared  in  the 
centre  of  the  little  clearing,  and  above  it 
smoke  was  soon  rising.  Before  the  first 
glimmer  of  day  the  gates  yawned  a  little  and 
three  dim  shapes  appeared  and  moved  leisurely 
for  the  woods — each  man  with  a  long  flint- 
lock rifle  in  the  hollow  of  his  arm,  a  hunting- 
knife  in  his  belt,  and  a  coonskin  cap  on  his 
head.  At  either  end  of  the  stockade  a  watch- 
tower  of  oak  became  visible  and  in  each  a 
sleepy  sentinel  yawned  and  sniffed  the  wel- 
come smell  of  frying  venison  below  him.  In 
the  pound  at  one  end  of  the  fort,  and  close 
to  the  eastern  side,  a  horse  whinnied,  and  a 
few  minutes  later  when  a  boy  slipped  through 
the  gates  with  feed  in  his  arms  there  was 
more  whinnying  and  the  stamping  of  im- 
patient feet. 

"Gol  darn  ye!"  the  boy  yelled,  "can't  ye 
wait  till  a  feller  gits  his  breakfast  ?" 

A  voice  deep,  lazy,  and  resonant  came 
from  the  watch-tower  above : 

"Well,  I'm  purty  hungry  myself." 

"See  any  Injuns,  Dave?" 

"Not  more'n  a  thousand  or  two,  I  reckon." 
The  boy  laughed: 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER      s,       5 

"Well,  I  reckon  you  won't  see  any  while 
I'm  around — they're  afeerd  o'  me" 

"I  don't  blame  'em,  Bud.  I  reckon  that 
blunderbuss  o'  yours  would  come  might' 
nigh  goin'  through  a  pat  o'  butter  at  twenty 
yards."  The  sentinel  rose  towering  to  the 
full  of  his  stature,  stretched  his  mighty  arms 
with  a  yawn,  and  lightly  leaped,  rifle  in  hand, 
into  the  enclosure.  A  girl  climbing  the  rude 
ladder  to  the  tower  stopped  midway. 

"Mornin',  Dave!" 

"Mornin',  Polly!" 

"I  was  comin'  to  wake  you  up,"  she  smiled. 

"I  just  waked  up,"  he  yawned,  humoring 
the  jest. 

"You  don't  seem  to  have  much  use  for 
this  ladder." 

"Not  unless  I'm  goin'  up;  and  I  wouldn't 
then  if  I  could  jump  as  high  as  I  can  fall." 
He  went  toward  her  to  help  her  down. 

"I  wouldn't  climb  very  high,"  she  said, 
and  scorning  his  hand  with  a  tantalizing 
little  grimace  she  leaped  as  lightly  as  had  he 
to  the  ground.  Two  older  women  who  sat 
about  a  kettle  of  steaming  clothes  watched 
her. 


6  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"Look  at  Polly  Conrad,  won't  ye?  I  de- 
clare that  gal— 

"Lyddy!"  cried  Polly,  "bring  Dave's 
breakfast!" 

At  the  door  of  each  log  cabin,  as  solidly 
built  as  a  little  fort,  a  hunter  was  cleaning  a 
long  rifle.  At  the  western  angle  two  men  were 
strengthening  the  pickets  of  the  palisade. 
About  the  fire  two  mothers  were  suckling 
babes  at  naked  breasts.  A  boy  was  stringing 
a  bow,  and  another  was  hurling  a  small 
tomahawk  at  an  oaken  post,  while  a  third 
who  was  carrying  wood  for  the  open  fire 
cried  hotly: 

"Come  on  here,  you  two,  an*  he'p  me  with 
this  wood!"  And  grumbling  they  came, 
for  that  fort  harbored  no  idler,  irrespective 
of  age  or  sex. 

At  the  fire  a  tall  girl  rose,  pushed  a  mass 
of  sunburned  hair  from  her  heated  forehead,  and 
a  flush  not  from  the  fire  fused  with  her  smile. 

"I  reckon  Dave  can  walk  this  far — he 
don't  look  very  puny." 

A  voice  vibrant  with  sarcasm  rose  from 
one  of  the  women  about  the  steaming  kettle. 

"Honor!"  she  cried,  "Honor  Sanders  !" 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  7 

In  a  doorway  near,  a  third  girl  was  framed 
— deep-eyed,  deep-breasted. 

"Honor!"  cried  the  old  woman,  "stop 
wastin'  yo'  time  with  that  weavin'  in  thar  an' 
come  out  here  an'  he'p  these  two  gals  to  git 
Dave  his  breakfast."  Dave  Yandell  laughed 
loudly. 

"Come  on,  Honor,"  he  called,  but  the  girl 
turned  and  the  whir  of  a  loom  started  again 
like  the  humming  of  bees.  Lydia  Noe  handed 
the  hunter  a  pan  of  deer-meat  and  corn 
bread,  and  Polly  poured  him  a  cup  of  steam- 
ing liquid  made  from  sassafras  leaves.  Un- 
heeding for  a  moment  the  food  in  his  lap, 
Dave  looked  up  into  Polly's  black  eyes,  shifted 
to  Lydia,  swerved  to  the  door  whence  came 
the  whir  of  the  loom. 

"You  are  looking  very  handsome  this 
morning,  Polly,"  he  said  gravely,  "and  Lydia 
is  lovelier  even  than  usual,  and  Honor  is  a 
woodland  dream."  He  shook  his  head. 
"No,"  he  said,  "I  really  couldn't." 

"Couldn't  what?"  asked  Polly,  though 
she  knew  some  nonsense  was  coming. 

"Be  happy  even  with  two,  if  t'other  were 
far  away." 


8  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"I  reckon  you'll  have  to  try  some  day — 
with  all  of  us  far  away,"  said  the  gentle  Lydia. 

"No  doubt,  no  doubt."  He  fell  upon  his 
breakfast. 

"Purple,  crimson,  and  gold — daughters  of 
the  sun — such  are  not  for  the  poor  hunter — 
alack,  alack!" 

"Poor  boy!"  said  Lydia,  and  Polly  looked 
at  her  with  quickening  wonder.  Rallying 
Dave  with  soft-voiced  mockery  was  a  new 
phase  in  Lydia.  Dave  gave  his  hunting- 
knife  a  pathetic  flourish. 

"And  when  the  Virginia  gallants  come, 
where  will  poor  Dave  be  ?" 

Polly's  answer  cut  with  sarcasm,  but  not  at 
Dave. 

"Dave  will  be  busy  cuttin'  wood  an* 
killin'  food  for  Jem — an'  keepin'  'em  from 
gettin'  scalped  by  Indians." 

"I  wonder,"  said  Lydia,  "if  they'll  have 
long  hair  like  Dave  ?"  Dave  shook  his  long 
locks  with  mock  pride. 

"Yes,  but  it  won't  be  their  own  an'  it'll 
be  powdered" 

"Lord,  I'd  like  to  see  the  first  Indian  who 
takes  one  of  their  scalps."  Polly  laughed, 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  9 

but  there  was  a  shudder  in  Lydia's  smile. 
Dave  rose. 

"Fm  goin'  to  sleep  till  dinner — don't  let 
anybody  wake  me,"  he  said,  and  at  once 
both  the  girls  were  serious  and  kind. 

"We  won't,  Dave/' 

Cow-bells  began  to  clang  at  the  edge  of  the 
forest. 

"There  they  are,"  cried  Polly.  "Come 
on,  Lyddy." 

The  two  girls  picked  up  piggins  and 
squeezed  through  the  opening  between  the 
heavy  gates.  The  young  hunter  entered  a 
door  and  within  threw  himself  across  a 
rude  bed,  face  down. 

"Honor!"  cried  one  of  the  old  women, 
"you  go  an*  git  a  bucket  o'  water."  The 
whir  stopped  instantly,  the  girl  stepped  with 
a  sort  of  slow  majesty  from  the  cabin,  and, 
entering  the  next,  paused  on  the  threshold 
as  her  eyes  caught  the  powerful  figure  stretched 
on  the  bed  and  already  in  heavy  sleep.  As 
she  stepped  softly  for  the  bucket  she  could 
not  forbear  another  shy  swift  glance;  she 
felt  the  flush  in  her  face  and  to  conceal  it  she 
turned  her  head  angrily  when  she  came  out. 


io  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

A  few  minutes  later  she  was  at  the  spring 
and  ladling  water  into  her  pail  with  a  gourd. 
Near  by  the  other  two  girls  were  milking — 
each  with  her  forehead  against  the  soft  flank 
of  a  dun-colored  cow  whose  hoofs  were  stained 
with  the  juice  of  wild  strawberries.  Honor 
dipped  lazily.  When  her  bucket  was  full  she 
fell  a-dreaming,  and  when  _the  girls  were 
through  with  their  task  they  turned  to  find 
her  with  deep,  unseeing  eyes  on  the  dark 
wilderness. 

"Boo!"  cried  Polly,  startling  her,  and  then 
teasingly: 

"Are  you  in  love  with  Dave,  too,  Hon- 
or?" 

The  girl  reddened. 

"No,"  she  whipped  out,  "an*  I  am  t 
goin'  to  be."  And  then  she  reddened  again 
angrily  as  Polly's  hearty  laugh  told  her  she 
had  given  herself  away.  For  a  moment  the 
three  stood  like  wood-nymphs  about  the 
spring,  vigorous,  clear-eyed,  richly  dowered 
with  health  and  color  and  body  and  limb — 
typical  mothers-to-be  of  a  wilderness  race. 
And  as  Honor  turned  abruptly  for  the  fort, 
a  shot  came  from  the  woods  followed  by  a 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  n 

war-whoop  that  stopped  the  blood  shuddering 
in  their  veins. 

"Oh,  my  God!"  each  cried,  and  catching 
at  their  wet  skirts  they  fled  in  terror  through 
the  long  grass.  They  heard  the  quick  com- 
motion in  the  fort,  heard  sharp  commands, 
cries  of  warning,  frantic  calls  for  them  to 
hurry,  saw  strained  faces  at  the  gates, 
saw  Dave  bound  through  and  rush  toward 
them.  And  from  the  forest  there  was 
nothing  but  its  silence  until  that  was 
again  broken — this  time  by  a  loud  laugh — 
the  laugh  of  a  white  man.  Then  at  the  edge 
of  the  wilderness  appeared — the  fool.  Be- 
hind him  followed  the  other  two  who  had 
gone  out  that  morning,  one  with  a  deer 
swung  about  his  shoulders,  and  all  could 
hear  the  oaths  of  both  as  they  cursed  the  fool 
in  front  who  had  given  shot  and  war-whoop 
to  frighten  women  and  make  them  run. 
Dave  stood  still,  but  his  lips,  too,  were  busy 
with  curses,  and  from  the  fort  came  curses — 
an  avalanche  of  them.  The  sickly  smile 
passed  from  the  face  of  the  fellow,  shame 
took  its  place,  and  when  he  fronted  the 
terrible  eyes  of  old  Jerome  Sanders  at  the 
gate,  that  face  grew  white  with  fear. 


12  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"Thar  ain't  an  Injun  in  a  hundred  miles," 
he  stammered,  and  then  he  shrank  down  as 
though  he  were  almost  going  to  his  knees, 
when  suddenly  old  Jerome  slipped  his  long 
rifle  from  his  shoulder  and  fired  past  the  fel- 
low's head  with  a  simultaneous  roar  of  com- 
mand:. 

"Git  in — ever'body — git  in — quick!" 

From  a  watch-tower,  too,  a  rifle  had 
cracked.  A  naked  savage  had  bounded  into 
a  spot  of  sunlight  that  quivered  on  the  buffalo 
trail  a  hundred  yards  deep  in  the  forest  and 
leaped  lithely  aside  into  the  bushes — both 
rifles  had  missed.  Deeper  from  the  woods 
came  two  war-whoops — real  ones — and  in 
the  silence  that  followed  the  gates  were 
swiftly  closed  and  barred,  and  a  keen-eyed 
rifleman  was  at  every  port-hole  in  the  fort. 
From  the  tower  old  Jerome  saw  reeds  begin 
to  shake  in  a  cane-brake  to  the  left  of  the 
spring. 

"Look  thar!"  he  called,  and  three  rifles, 
with  his  own,  covered  the  spot.  A  small 
brown  arm  was  thrust  above  the  shaking 
reeds,  with  the  palm  of  the  hand  toward  the 
fort — the  peace  sign  of  the  Indian — and  a 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  13 

moment  later  a  naked  boy  sprang  from  the 
cane-brake  and  ran  toward  the  blockhouse, 
with  a  bow  and  arrow  in  his  left  hand  and 
his  right  stretched  above  his  head,  its  pleading 
palm  still  outward. 

"Don't  shoot! — don't  nobody  shoot!" 
shouted  the  old  man.  No  shot  came  from 
the  fort,  but  from  the  woods  came  yells  of 
rage,  and  as  the  boy  streaked  through  the 
clearing  an  arrow  whistled  past  his  head. 

"Let  him  in!"  shouted  Jerome,  and  as 
Dave  opened  the  gates  another  arrow  hurtled 
between  the  boy's  upraised  arm  and  his 
body  and  stuck  quivering  in  one  of  its  up- 
right bars.  The  boy  slid  through  and  stood 
panting,  shrinking,  wild-eyed.  The  arrow 
had  grazed  his  skin,  and  when  Dave  lifted 
his  arm  and  looked  at  the  oozing  drops  of 
blood  he  gave  a  startled  oath,  for  he  saw  a 
flash  of  white  under  the  loosened  breech-clout 
below.  The  boy  understood.  Quickly  he 
pushed  the  clout  aside  on  his  thigh  that  all 
might  see,  nodded  gravely,  and  proudly 
tapped  his  breast. 

"Paleface  !"  he  half  grunted,  "white  man  !" 

The  wilds  were  quiet.     The  boy  pointed 


i4  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

to  them  and  held  up  three  fingers  to  indicate 
that  there  were  only  three  red  men  there, 
and  shook  his  head  to  say  there  would  be  no 
attack  from  them.  Old  Jerome  studied  the 
little  stranger  closely,  wondering  what  new 
trick  those  red  devils  were  trying  now  to 
play.  Mother  Sanders  and  Mother  Noe,  the 
boys  of  the  fort,  the  gigantic  brothers  to 
Lydia,  Adam  and  Noel,  the  three  girls  had 
gathered  about  him,  as  he  stood  with  the 
innocence  of  Eden  before  the  fall. 

"The  fust  thing  to  do,"  said  Mother 
Sanders,  "is  to  git  some  clothes  for  the  little 
heathen."  Whereat  Lydia  flushed  and  Dave 
made  an  impatient  gesture  for  silence. 

"What's  your  name  ?"  The  boy  shook  his 
head  and  looked  eagerly  around. 

"Francais — French?"  he  asked,  and  in 
turn  the  big  woodsman  shook  his  head — no- 
body there  spoke  French.  However,  Dave 
knew  a  little  Shawnee,  a  good  deal  of  the  sign- 
language,  and  the  boy  seemed  to  understand 
a  good  many  words  in  English;  so  that  the 
big  woodsman  pieced  out  his  story  with  con- 
siderable accuracy,  and  turned  to  tell  it  to 
Jerome.  The  Indians  had  crossed  the  Big 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  rj 

River,  were  as  many  as  the  leaves,  and  meant 
to  attack  the  whites.  For  the  first  time  they 
had  allowed  the  boy  to  go  on  a  war-party. 
Some  one  had  treated  him  badly — he  pointed 
out  the  bruises  of  cuffs  and  kicks  on  his  body. 
The  Indians  called  him  White  Arrow,  and 
he  knew  he  was  white  from  the  girdle  of  un- 
tanned  skin  under  his  breech-clout  and  be- 
cause the  Indian  boys  taunted  him.  Asked 
why  he  had  come  to  the  fort,  he  pointed  again 
to  his  bruises,  put  both  hands  against  his 
breast,  and  stretched  them  wide  as  though  he 
would  seek  shelter  in  the  arms  of  his  own  race 
and  take  them  to  his  heart;  and  for  the  first 
time  a  smile  came  to  his  face  that  showed  him 
plainly  as  a  curious  product  of  his  race  and 
the  savage  forces  that  for  years  had  been 
moulding  him.'  That  smile  could  have  never 
come  to  the  face  of  an  Indian.  No  Indian 
would  ever  have  so  lost  himself  in  his  own 
emotions.  No  white  man  would  have  used 
his  gestures  and  the  symbols  of  nature  to 
which  he  appealed.  Only  an  Indian  could 
have  shown  such  a  cruel,  vindictive,  merciless 
fire  in  his  eyes  when  he  told  of  his  wrongs, 
and  when  he  saw  tears  in  Lydia's  eyes,  the 


16  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

first  burning  in  his  life  came  to  his  own,  and 
brushing  across  them  with  fierce  shame  he 
turned  Indian  stoic  again  and  stood  with  his 
arms  folded  over  his  bow  and  arrows  at  his 
breast,  looking  neither  to  right  nor  left,  as 
though  he  were  waiting  for  judgment  at  their 
hands  and  cared  little  what  his  fate  might  be, 
as  perfect  from  head  to  foot  as  a  statue  of 
the  ancient  little  god,  who,  in  him,  had  for- 
saken the  couches  of  love  for  the  tents  of  war. 


II 

ALL  turned  now  to  the  duties  of  the  day — 
Honor  to  her  loom,  Polly  to  her  distaff,  and 
Lydia  to  her  spinning-wheel,  for  the  clothes 
of  the  women  were  home-spun,  home-woven, 
home-made.  Old  Jerome  and  Dave  and  the 
older  men  gathered  in  one  corner  of  the  stock- 
ade for  a  council  of  war.  The  boy  had  made 
it  plain  that  the  attacking  party  was  at  least 
two  days  behind  the  three  Indians  from  whom 
he  had  escaped,  so  that  there  was  no  danger 
that  day,  and  they  could  wait  until  night  to 
send  messengers  to  warn  the  settlers  outside 
to  seek  safety  within  the  fort.  Meanwhile, 
Jerome  would  despatch  five  men  with  Dave 
to  scout  for  the  three  Indians  who  might  be 
near  by  in  the  woods,  and  the  boy,  who  saw 
them  slip  out  the  rear  gate  of  the  fort,  at 
once  knew  their  purpose,  shook  his  head, 
and  waved  his  hand  to  say  that  his  late 
friends  were  gone  back  to  hurry  on  the  big 
war-party  to  the  attack,  now  that  the  whites 
17 


i8  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

themselves  knew  their  danger.  Old  Jerome 
nodded  that  he  understood,  and  nodded  to 
others  his  appreciation  of  the  sense  and  keen- 
ness of  the  lad,  but  he  let  the  men  go  just  the 
same.  From  cabin  door  to  cabin  door  the 
boy  went  in  turn — peeking  in,  but  showing 
no  wonder,  no  surprise,  and  little  interest 
until  Lydia  again  smiled  at  him.  At  her 
door  he  paused  longest,  and  even  went  within 
and  bent  his  ear  to  the  bee-like  hum  of  the 
wheel.  At  the  port-holes  in  the  logs  he 
pointed  and  grunted  his  understanding  and 
appreciation,  as  he  did  when  he  climbed  into 
a  blockhouse  and  saw  how  one  story  over- 
lapped the  other  and  how  through  an  open- 
ing in  the  upper  floor  the  defenders  in  the 
tower  might  pour  a  destructive  fire  on  at- 
tackers breaking  in  below.  When  he  came 
down  three  boys,  brothers  to  the  three  girls, 
Bud  Sanders,  Jack  Conrad,  and  Harry  Noe, 
were  again  busy  with  their  games.  They 
had  been  shy  with  him  as  he  with  them,  and 
now  he  stood  to  one  side  while  they,  pretend- 
ing to  be  unconscious  of  his  presence,  watched 
with  sidelong  glances  the  effect  on  him  of 
their  prowess.  All  three  threw  the  tomahawk 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  19 

and  shot  arrows  with  great  skill,  but  they  did 
not  dent  the  impassive  face  of  the  little 
stranger. 

"Maybe  he  thinks  he  can  do  better/'  said 
Bud;  "let's  let  him  try  it." 

And  he  held  forth  the  tomahawk  and  mo- 
tioned toward  the  post.  The  lad  took  it 
gravely,  gravely  reached  for  the  tomahawk 
of  each  of  the  other  two,  and  with  slow  dignity 
walked  several  yards  farther  away  from  the 
mark.  Then  he  wheeled  with  such  ferocity 
in  his  face  that  the  boys  shrank  aside,  clutch- 
ing with  some  fear  to  one  another's  arms,  and 
before  they  could  quite  recover,  they  were 
gulping  down  wonder  as  the  three  weapons 
whistled  through  the  air  and  were  quivering 
close,  side  by  side,  in  the  post. 

"Gee!"  they  said.  Again  the  lad's  face 
turned  impassive  as  he  picked  up  his  bow  and 
three  arrows  and  slowly  walked  toward  the 
wall  of  the  stockade  so  that  he  was  the  full 
width  of  the  fort  away.  And  then  three 
arrows  hurtled  past  them  in  incredibly  swift 
succession  and  thudded  into  the  post,  each 
just  above  a  tomahawk.  This  time  the  three 
onlookers  were  quite  speechless,  though  their 


20  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

mouths  were  open  wide.  Then  they  ran 
toward  him  and  had  him  show  just  how  he 
held  tomahawk  and  bow  and  arrow,  and  all 
three  did  much  better  with  the  new  points  he 
gave  them.  Wondering  then  whether  they 
might  not  teach  him  something,  Jack  did 
a  standing  broad  jump  and  Bud  a  running 
broad  jump  and  Harry  a  hop,  skip,  and  a 
jump.  The  young  stranger  shook  his  head 
but  he  tried  and  fell  short  in  each  event  and 
was  greatly  mortified.  Again  he  shook  his 
head  when  Bud  and  Jack  took  backholds  and 
had  a  wrestling-match,  but  he  tried  with  Jack 
and  was  thumped  hard  to  the  earth.  He 
sprang  to  his  feet  looking  angry,  but  all  were 
laughing,  and  he  laughed  too. 

"Me  big  fool,"  he  said;  and  they  showed 
him  how  to  feint  and  trip,  and  once  he  came 
near  throwing  Bud.  At  rifle-shooting,  too, 
he  was  no  match  for  the  young  pioneers,  but 
at  last  he  led  them  with  gestures  and  unin- 
telligible grunts  to  the  far  end  of  the  stock- 
ade and  indicated  a  foot-race.  The  boy  ran 
like  one  of  his  own  arrows,  but  he  beat  Bud 
only  a  few  feet,  and  Bud  cried: 

"I  reckon  if  /  didn't  have  no  clothes  on, 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  21 

he  couldn't  'a'  done  it";  and  on  the  word 
Mother  Sanders  appeared  and  cried  to  Bud 
to  bring  the  "Injun"  to  her  cabin.  She  had 
been  unearthing  clothes  for  the  "little 
heathen,"  and  Bud  helped  to  put  them  on. 
In  a  few  minutes  the  lad  reappeared  in  fringed 
hunting  shirt  and  trousers,  wriggling  in  them 
most  uncomfortably,  for  they  made  him  itch, 
but  at  the  same  time  wearing  them  proudly. 
Mother  Sanders  approached  with  a  hunting- 
knife. 

"Fm  goin'  to  cut  off  that  topknot  so  his 
hair  can  ketch  up,"  she  said,  but  the  boy 
scowled  fearfully,  turned,  fled,  and  scaling 
the  stockade  as  nimbly  as  a  squirrel,  halted 
on  top  with  one  leg  over  the  other  side. 

"  He  thinks  you  air  goinj  to  take  his  scalp," 
shouted  Bud.  The  three  boys  jumped  up 
and  down  in  their  glee,  and  even  Mother 
Sanders  put  her  hands  on  her  broad  hips  and 
laughed  with  such  loud  heartiness  that  many 
came  to  the  cabin  doors  to  see  what  the 
matter  was.  It  was  no  use  for  the  boys  to 
point  to  their  own  heads  and  finger  their  own 
shocks  of  hair,  for  the  lad  shook  his  head, 
and  outraged  by  their  laughter  kept  his  place 


22  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

in  sullen  dignity  a  long  while  before  he  could 
be  persuaded  to  come  down. 

On  the  mighty  wilderness  the  sun  sank 
slowly  and  old  Jerome  sat  in  the  western  tower 
to  watch  alone.  The  silence  out  there  was 
oppressive  and  significant,  for  it  meant  that 
the  boy's  theory  was  right;  the  three  In- 
dians had  gone  back  for  their  fellows,  and 
when  darkness  came  the  old  man  sent  runners 
to  the  outlying  cabins  to  warn  the  inmates 
to  fake  refuge  within  the  fort.  There  was 
no  settler  that  was  not  accustomed  to  a  soft 
tapping  on  the  wooden  windows  that  startled 
him  wide  awake.  Then  there  was  the  noise- 
less awakening  of  the  household,  noiseless 
dressing  of  the  children — the  mere  whisper 
of  "Indians"  was  enough  to  keep  them  quiet 
— and  the  noiseless  slipping  through  the  wil- 
derness for  the  oak-picketed  stockade.  And 
the  gathering-in  was  none  too  soon.  The 
hooting  of  owls  started  before  dawn.  A 
flaming  arrow  hissed  from  the  woods,  thudded 
into  the  roof  of  one  of  the  cabins,  sputtered 
feebly  on  a  dew-drenched  ridge-pole,  and  went 
out.  Savage  war-whoops  rent  the  air,  and 
the  battle  was  on.  All  day  the  fight  went 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  23 

on.  There  were  feints  of  attack  in  front  and 
rushes  from  the  rear,  and  there  were  rushes 
from  all  sides.  The  women  loade.d  rifles  and 
cooked  and  cared  for  the  wounded.  Thrice 
an  Indian  reached  the  wall  of  the  stockade 
and  set  a  cabin  on  fire,  but  no  one  of  the  three 
got  back  to  the  woods  alive.  The  stranger 
boy  sat  stoically  in  the  centre  of  the  enclosure 
watching  everything,  and  making  no  effort  to 
take  part,  except  twice  when  he  saw  a  gigantic 
Indian  brandishing  his  rifle  at  the  edge  of  the 
woods,  encouraging  his  companions  behind, 
and  each  time  he  grunted  and  begged  for  a 
gun.  And  Dave  made  out  that  the  Indian 
was  the  one  who  had  treated  the  boy  cruelly 
and  that  the  lad  was  after  a  personal  revenge. 
Late  in  the  afternoon  the  ammunition  began 
to  run  low  and  the  muddy  discoloration  of  the 
river  showed  that  the  red  men  had  begun  to 
tunnel  under  the  walls  of  the  fort.  And  yet 
a  last  sally  was  made  just  before  sunset.  A 
body  pushed  against  Dave  in  the  tower  and 
Dave  saw  the  stranger  boy  at  his  side  with 
his  bow  and  arrow.  A  few  minutes  later  he 
heard  a  yell  from  the  lad  which  rang  high 
over  the  din,  and  he  saw  the  feathered  tip  of 


24  ERSKINE  DALE—PIONEER 

an  arrow  shaking  in  the  breast  of  the  big  In- 
dian who  staggered  and  fell  behind  a  bush. 
Just  at  that  moment  there  were  yells  from  the 
woods  behind — the  yells  of  white  men  that 
were  answered  by  joyful  yells  within  the  fort: 

"The  Virginians  !  The  Virginians  !"  And 
as  the  rescuers  dashed  into  sight  on  horse  and 
afoot,  Dave  saw  the  lad  leap  the  wall  of  the 
stockade  and  disappear  behind  the  fleeing  In- 
dians. 

"Gone  back  to  'em,"  he  grunted  to  himself. 
The  gates  were  thrown  open.  Old  Jerome 
and  his  men  rushed  out,  and  besieged  and 
rescuers  poured  all  their  fire  after  the  running 
Indians,  some  of  whom  turned  bravely  to 
empty  their  rifles  once  more. 

"Git  in!  Git  in,  quick!"  yelled  old  Joel. 
He  knew  another  volley  would  come  as  soon 
as  the  Indians  reached  the  cover  of  thick 
woods,  and  come  the  volley  did.  Three  men 
fell — one  the  leader  of  the  Virginians,  whose 
head  flopped  forward  as  he  entered  the  gate 
and  was  caught  in  old  Joel's  arms.  Not  an- 
other sound  came  from  the  woods,  but  again 
Dave  from  the  tower  saw  the  cane-brush  rus- 
tle at  the  edge  of  a  thicket,  saw  a  hand 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  25 

thrust  upward  with  the  palm  of  peace  toward 
the  fort,  and  again  the  stranger  boy  emerged 
— this  time  with  a  bloody  scalp  dangling  in 
his  left  hand.  Dave  sprang  down  and  met 
him  at  the  gate.  The  boy  shook  his  bow  and 
arrow  proudly,  pointed  to  a  crisscross  scar 
on  the  scalp,  and  Dave  made  out  from  his 
explanation  that  once  before  the  lad  had 
tried  to  kill  his  tormentor  and  that  the  scar 
was  the  sign.  In  the  centre  of  the  enclosure 
the  wounded  Virginian  lay,  and  when  old 
Jerome  stripped  the  shirt  from  his  breast  he 
shook  his  head  gravely.  The  wounded  man 
opened  his  eyes  just  in  time  to  see  and  he 
smiled. 

"I  know  it,"  he  said  faintly,  and  then  his 
eyes  caught  the  boy  with  the  scalp,  were  fixed 
steadily  and  began  to  widen. 

"Who  is  that  boy?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"Never  mind  now,"  said  old  Joel  sooth- 
ingly, "you  must  keep  still!"  The  boy's 
eyes  had  begun  to  shift  under  the  scrutiny 
and  he  started  away. 

"Come  back  here!"  commanded  the 
wounded  man,  and  still  searching  the  lad  he 
said  sharply  again: 


26  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"Who  is  that  boy?"  Nor  would  he  have 
his  wound  dressed  or  even  take  the  cup  of 
water  handed  to  him  until  old  Joel  briefly 
told  the  story,  when  he  lay  back  on  the  ground 
and  closed  his  eyes. 

Darkness  fell.  In  each  tower  a  watcher 
kept  his  eyes  strained  toward  the  black, 
silent  woods.  The  dying  man  was  laid  on 
a  rude  bed  within  one  cabin,  and  old  Joel 
lay  on  the  floor  of  it  close  to  the  door.  The 
stranger  lad  refused  to  sleep  indoors  and 
huddled  himself  in  a  blanket  on  the  ground 
in  one  corner  of  the  stockade.  Men,  women, 
and  children  fell  to  a  deep  and  weary  sleep. 
In  the  centre  the  fire  burned  and  there  was 
no  sound  on  the  air  but  the  crackle  of  its 
blazing.  An  hour  later  the  boy  in  the  corner 
threw  aside  his  blanket,  and  when,  a  moment 
later,  Lydia  Noe,  feverish  and  thirsty,  rose 
from  her  bed  to  get  a  drink  of  water  outside 
her  door,  she  stopped  short  on  the  threshold. 
The  lad,  stark  naked  but  for  his  breech-clout 
and  swinging  his  bloody  scalp  over  his  head, 
was  stamping  around  the  fire — dancing  the 
scalp-dance  of  the  savage  to  a  low,  fierce, 
guttural  song.  The  boy  saw  her,  saw  her 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  27 

face  in  the  blaze,  stricken  white  with  fright 
and  horror,  saw  her  too  paralyzed  to  move 
and  he  stopped,  staring  at  her  a  moment 
with  savage  rage,  and  went  on  again.  Old 
Joel's  body  filled  the  next  doorway.  He 
called  out  with  a  harsh  oath,  and  again  the 
boy  stopped.  With  another  oath  and  a 
threatening  gesture  Joel  motioned  to  the  cor- 
ner of  the  stockade,  and  with  a  flare  of  de- 
fiance in  his  black  eyes  the  lad  stalked  slowly 
and  proudly  away.  From  behind  him  the 
voice  of  the  wounded  man  called,  and  old 
Joel  turned.  There  was  a  ghastly  smile  on 
the  Virginian's  pallid  face. 

"I  saw  it,"  he  said  painfully.     "That's— 
that's  my  son!" 


Ill 

FROM  the  sun-dial  on  the  edge  of  the  high 
bank,  straight  above  the  brim  of  the  majestic 
yellow  James,  a  noble  path  of  thick  grass 
as  broad  as  a  modern  highway  ran  hundreds 
of  yards  between  hedges  of  roses  straight  to 
the  open  door  of  the  great  manor-house  with 
its  wide  verandas  and  mighty  pillars  set  deep 
back  from  the  river  in  a  grove  of  ancient 
oaks.  Behind  the  house  spread  a  little  king- 
dom, divided  into  fields  of  grass,  wheat, 
tobacco,  and  corn,  and  dotted  with  white- 
washed cabins  filled  with  slaves.  Already 
the  house  had  been  built  a  hundred  years  of 
brick  brought  from  England  in  the  builder's 
own  ships,  it  was  said,  and  the  second  son 
of  the  reigning  generation,  one  Colonel  Dale, 
sat  in  the  veranda  alone.  He  was  a  royalist 
officer,  this  second  son,  but  his  elder  brother 
had  the  spirit  of  daring  and  adventure  that 
should  have  been  his,  and  he  had  been  sitting 

there  four  years  before  when  that  elder  brother 

28 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  29 

came  home  from  his  first  pioneering  trip  into 
the  wilds,  to  tell  that  his  wife  was  dead  and 
their  only  son  was  a  captive  among  the  In- 
dians. Two  years  later  still,  word  came  that 
the  father,  too,  had  met  death  from  the 
savages,  and  the  little  kingdom  passed  into 
Colonel  Dale's  hands. 

Indentured  servants,  as  well  as  blacks 
from  Africa,  had  labored  on  that  path  in 
front  of  him;  and  up  it  had  once  stalked  a 
deputation  of  the  great  Powhatan's  red  tribes. 
Up  that  path  had  come  the  last  of  the  early 
colonial  dames,  in  huge  ruffs,  high-heeled 
shoes,  and  short  skirts,  with  her  husband, 
who  was  the  "head  of  a  hundred,"  with  gold 
on  his  clothes,  and  at  once  military  com- 
mander, civil  magistrate,  judge,  and  executive 
of  the  community;  had  come  officers  in  gold 
lace,  who  had  been  rowed  up  in  barges  from 
Jamestown;  members  of  the  worshipful  House 
of  Burgesses;  bluff  planters  in  silk  coats,  the 
governor  and  members  of  the  council;  dis- 
tinguished visitors  from  England,  colonial 
gentlemen  and  ladies.  At  the  manor  they 
had  got  beef,  bacon,  brown  loaves,  Indian 
corn-cakes,  strong  ales,  and  strong  waters 


30  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

(but  no  tea  or  coffee),  and  "drunk"  pipes  of 
tobacco  from  lily-pots — jars  of  white  earth — 
lighted  with  splinters  of  juniper,  or  coals  of 
fire  plucked  from  the  fireplace  with  a  pair  of 
silver  tongs.  And  all  was  English  still — 
books,  clothes,  plates,  knives,  and  forks; 
the  church,  the  Church  of  England;  the 
Governor,  the  representative  of  the  King; 
his  Council,  the  English  House  of  Lords; 
the  Burgesses,  the  English  Parliament — so- 
cially aristocratic,  politically  republican.  For 
ancient  usage  held  that  all  "freemen"  should 
have  a  voice  in  the  elections,  have  equal  right 
to  say  who  the  lawmakers  and  what  the  law. 
The  way  was  open  as  now.  Any  man  could 
get  two  thousand  acres  by  service  to  the 
colony,  could  build,  plough,  reap,  save,  buy 
servants,  and  roll  in  his  own  coach  to  sit  as 
burgess.  There  was  but  one  seat  of  learning 
— at  Williamsburg.  What  culture  they  had 
they  brought  from  England  or  got  from  par- 
ents or  minister.  And  always  they  had 
seemed  to  prefer  sword  and  stump  to  the  pen. 
They  hated  towns.  At  every  wharf  a  long 
shaky  trestle  ran  from  a  warehouse  out  into 
the  river  to  load  ships  with  tobacco  for  Eng- 


ERSKINE  DALE-PIONEER  31 

land  and  to  get  in  return  all  conveniences 
and  luxuries,  and  that  was  enough.  In  towns 
men  jostled  and  individual  freedom  was  lost, 
so,  Ho !  for  the  great  sweeps  of  land  and  the 
sway  of  a  territorial  lord !  Englishmen  they 
were  of  Shakespeare's  time  but  living  in 
Virginia,  and  that  is  all  they  were — save 
that  the  flower  of  liberty  was  growing  faster 
in  the  new-world  soil. 

The  plantation  went  back  to  a  patent 
from  the  king  in  1617,  and  by  the  grant 
the  first  stout  captain  was  to  "enjoy  his 
landes  in  as  large  and  ample  manner  to  all 
intentes  and  purposes  as  any  Lord  of  any 
manours  in  England  doth  hold  his  grounde." 
This  gentleman  was  the  only  man  after  the 
"  Starving  Time  "  to  protest  against  the  aban- 
donment of  Jamestown  in  1610.  When,  two 
years  later,  he  sent  two  henchmen  as  burgesses 
to  the  first  general  assembly,  that  august 
body  would  not  allow  them  to  sit  unless  the 
captain  would  relinquish  certain  high  privi- 
leges in  his  grant. 

"I  hold  my  patent  for  service  done,"  the 
captain  answered  grandiloquently,  "which 
noe  newe  or  late  comers  can  meritt  or  chal- 


32  ERSKINE  DALE—PIONEER 

lenge,"  and  only  with  the  greatest  difficulty 
was  he  finally  persuaded  to  surrender  his 
high  authority.  In  that  day  the  house  was 
built  of  wood,  protected  by  a  palisade,  pre- 
scribed by  law,  and  the  windows  had  stout 
shutters.  Everything  within  it  had  come 
from  England.  The  books  were  ponderous 
folios,  stout  duodecimos  encased  in  embossed 
leather,  and  among  them  was  a  folio  contain- 
ing Master  William  Shakespeare's  dramas, 
collected  by  his  fellow  actors  Heminge  and 
Condell.  Later  by  many  years  a  frame  house 
supplanted  this  primitive,  fort-like  home- 
stead, and  early  in  the  eighteenth  century, 
after  several  generations  had  been  educated 
in  England,  an  heir  built  the  noble  manor  as 
it  still  stands — an  accomplished  gentleman 
with  lace  collar,  slashed  doublet,  and  sable 
silvered  hair,  a  combination  of  scholar,  court- 
ier, and  soldier.  And  such  had  been  the  mas- 
ter of  the  little  kingdom  ever  since. 

In  the  earliest  days  the  highest  and  reddest 
cedars  in  the  world  rose  above  the  under- 
brush. The  wild  vines  were  so  full  of  grape 
bunches  that  the  very  turf  overflowed  with 
them.  Deer,  turkeys,  and  snow-white  cranes 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  33 

were  in  incredible  abundance.  The  shores 
were  fringed  with  verdure.  The  Indians  were 
a  "kind,  loving  people."  Englishmen  called 
it  the  "Good  Land,"  and  found  it  "most 
plentiful,  sweet,  wholesome,  and  fruitful  of 
all  others."  The  east  was  the  ocean;  Florida 
was  the  south;  the  north  was  Nova  Francia, 
and  the  west  unknown.  Only  the  shores 
touched  the  interior,  which  was  an  untravelled 
realm  of  fairer  fruits  and  flowers  than  in  Eng- 
land; green  shores,  majestic  forests,  and  blue 
mountains  filled  with  gold  and  jewels.  Bright 
birds  flitted,  dusky  maids  danced  and  beck- 
oned, rivers  ran  over  golden  sand,  and  toward 
the  South  Sea  was  the  Fount  of  Youth,  whose 
waters  made  the  aged  young  again.  Bermuda 
Islands  were  an  enchanted  den  full  of  furies 
and  devils  which  all  men  did  shun  as  hell  and 
perdition.  And  the  feet  of  all  who  had  made 
history  had  trod  that  broad  path  to  the 
owner's  heart  and  home. 

Down  it  now  came  a  little  girl — the  flower 
of  all  those  dead  and  gone — and  her  coming 
was  just  as  though  one  of  the  flowers  about  her 
had  stepped  from  its  gay  company  on  one  or 
the  other  side  of  the  path  to  make  through 


34  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

them  a  dainty,  triumphal  march  as  the  fair- 
est of  them  all.  At  the  dial  she  paused  and 
her  impatient  blue  eyes  turned  to  a  bend  of 
the  yellow  river  for  the  first  glimpse  of  a  gay 
barge  that  soon  must  come.  At  the  wharf 
the  song  of  negroes  rose  as  they  unloaded  the 
boat  just  from  Richmond.  She  would  go  and 
see  if  there  was  not  a  package  for  her  mother 
and  perhaps  a  present  for  herself,  so  with 
another  look  to  the  river  bend  she  turned, 
but  she  moved  no  farther.  Instead,  she  gave 
a  little  gasp,  in  which  there  was  no  fear, 
though  what  she  saw  was  surely  startling 
enough  to  have  made  her  wheel  in  flight.  In- 
stead, she  gazed  steadily  into  a  pair  of  grave 
black  eyes  that  were  fixed  on  her  from  under 
a  green  branch  that  overhung  the  footpath, 
and  steadily  she  searched  the  figure  standing 
there,  from  the  coonskin  cap  down  the  fringed 
hunting-shirt  and  fringed  breeches  to  the 
moccasined  feet.  And  still  the  strange  figure 
stood  arms  folded,  motionless  and  silent. 
Neither  the  attitude  nor  the  silence  was  quite 
pleasing,  and  the  girl's  supple  slenderness  stif- 
fened, her  arms  went  rigidly  to  her  sides,  and 
a  haughty  little  snap  sent  her  undimpled 
chin  upward. 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  35 

"What  do  you  want  ?" 

And  still  he  looked,  searching  her  in  turn 
from  head  to  foot,  for  he  was  no  more  strange 
to  her  than  she  was  to  him. 

"Who  are  you  and  what  do  you  want  ?" 

It  was  a  new  way  for  a  woman  to  speak 
to  a  man;  he  in  turn  was  not  pleased,  and  a 
gleam  in  his  eyes  showed  it. 

"I  am  the  son  of  a  king." 

She  started  to  laugh,  but  grew  puzzled, 
for  she  had  the  blood  of  Pocahontas  herself. 

"You  are  an  Indian?" 

He  shook  his  head,  scorning  to  explain, 
dropped  his  rifle  to  the  hollow  of  his  arm, 
and,  reaching  for  his  belt  where  she  saw  the 
buckhorn  handle  of  a  hunting-knife,  came 
toward  her,  but  she  did  not  flinch.  Drawing 
a  letter  from  the  belt,  he  handed  it  to  her.  It 
was  so  worn  and  soiled  that  she  took  it  daintily 
and  saw  on  it  her  father's  name.  The  boy 
waved  his  hand  toward  the  house  far  up  the 
path. 

"He  live  here?" 

"You  wish  to  see  him  ?" 

The  boy  grunted  assent,  and  with  a  shock 
of  resentment  the  little  lady  started  up  the 


36  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

path  with  her  head  very  high  indeed.  The 
boy  slipped  noiselessly  after  her,  his  face  un- 
moved, but  his  eyes  were  darting  right  and 
left  to  the  flowers,  trees,  and  bushes,  to  every 
flitting,  strange  bird,  the  gray  streak  of  a 
scampering  squirrel,  and  what  he  could  not 
see,  his  ears  took  in — the  clanking  chains  of 
work-horses,  the  whir  of  a  quail,  the  screech 
of  a  peacock,  the  songs  of  negroes  from  far- 
off  fields. 

On  the  porch  sat  a  gentleman  in  powdered 
wig  and  knee-breeches,  who,  lifting  his  eyes 
from  a  copy  of  The  Spectator  to  give  an  order 
to  a  negro  servant,  saw  the  two  coming, 
and  the  first  look  of  bewilderment  on  his  fine 
face  gave  way  to  a  tolerant  smile.  A  stray 
cat  or  dog,  a  crippled  chicken,  a  neighbor's 
child,  or  a  pickaninny — all  these  his  little 
daughter  had  brought  in  at  one  time  or  an- 
other for  a  home,  and  now  she  had  a  strange 
ward,  indeed.  He  asked  no  question,  for  a 
purpose  very  decided  and  definite  was  plainly 
bringing  the  little  lady  on,  and  he  would 
not  have  to  question.  Swiftly  she  ran  up 
the  steps,  her  mouth  primly  set,  and  handed 
him  a  letter. 


"The  messenger  is  the  son  of  a  king' 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  >  37 

"The  messenger  is  the  son  of  a  king.*' 

"A  what  ?" 

"The  son  of  a  king,"  she  repeated  gravely. 

"Ah,"  said  the  gentleman,  humoring  her, 
"ask  his  highness  to  be  seated." 

His  highness  was  looking  from  one  to  the 
other  gravely  and  keenly.  He  did  not  quite 
understand,  but  he  knew  gentle  fun  was  being 
poked  at  him,  and  he  dropped  sullenly  on  the 
edge  of  the  porch  and  stared  in  front  of  him. 
The  little  girl  saw  that  his  moccasins  were 
much  worn  and  that  in  one  was  a  hole  with 
the  edge  blood-stained.  And  then  she  be- 
gan to  watch  her  father's  face,  which  showed 
that  the  contents  of  the  letter  were  astounding 
him.  He  rose  quickly  when  he  had  finished 
and  put  out  his  hand  to  the  stranger. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  my  boy,"  he  said 
with  great  kindness.  "Barbara,  this  is  a 
little  kinsman  of  ours  from  Kentucky.  He 
was  the  adopted  son  of  an  Indian  chief,  but  by 
blood  he  is  your  own  cousin.  His  name  is 
Erskine  Dale." 


IV 

THE  little  girl  rose  startled,  but  her  breed- 
ing was  too  fine  for  betrayal,  and  she  went  to 
him  with  hand  outstretched.  The  boy  took 
it  as  he  had  taken  her  father's,  limply  and 
without  rising.  The  father  frowned  and  smiled 
— how  could  the  lad  have  learned  manners  ? 
And  then  he,  too,  saw  the  hole  in  the  moccasin 
through  which  the  bleeding  had  started  again. 

"You  are  hurt — you  have  walked  a  long 
way  ?" 

The  lad  shrugged  his  shoulders  carelessly. 

"Three  days — I  had  to  shoot  horse." 

"Take  him  into  the  kitchen,  Barbara,  and 
tell  Hannah  to  wash  his  foot  and  bandage  it." 

The  boy  looked  uncomfortable  and  shook 
his  head,  but  the  little  girl  was  smiling  and 
she  told  him  to  come  with  such  sweet  im- 
periousness  that  he  rose  helplessly.  Old  Han- 
nah's eyes  made  a  bewildered  start ! 

"You  go  on  back  an*  wait  for  yo'  company, 
little  Miss;  I'll  'tend  to  him!" 
38 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  39 

.  And  when  the  boy  still  protested,  she  flared 
up: 

"Looky  here,  son,  little  Miss  tell  me  to 
wash  yo'  foot,  an'  I'se  gwinter  do  it,  ef  I 
got  to  tie  you  fust;  now  you  keep  still. 
Whar  you  come  from  ?" 

His  answer  was  a  somewhat  haughty  grunt 
that  at  once  touched  the  quick  instincts  of 
the  old  negress  and  checked  further  question. 
Swiftly  and  silently  she  bound  his  foot,  and 
with  great  respect  she  led  him  to  a  little 
room  in  one  ell  of  the  great  house  in  which 
was  a  tub  of  warm  water. 

"Ole  marster  say  you  been  travellin'  an* 
mebbe  you  like  to  refresh  yo'self  wid  a  hot 
bath.  Dar's  some  o'  little  marster's  clothes 
on  de  bed  dar,  an'  a  pair  o'  his  shoes,  an'  I 
know  dey'Il  jus'  fit  you  snug.  You'll  find  all 
de  folks  on  de  front  po'ch  when  you  git 
through." 

She  closed  the  door.  Once,  winter  and 
summer,  the.  boy  had  daily  plunged  into  the 
river  with  his  Indian  companions,  but  he  had 
never  had  a  bath  in  his  life,  and  he  did  not 
know  what  the  word  meant;  yet  he  had 
learned  so  much  at  the  fort  that  he  had  no 


40  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

trouble  making  out  what  the  tub  of  water 
was  for.  For  the  same  reason  he  felt  no  sur- 
prise when  he  picked  up  the  clothes;  he  was 
only  puzzled  how  to  get  into  them.  He  tried, 
and  struggling  with  the  breeches  he  threw  one 
hand  out  to  the  wall  to  keep  from  falling  and 
caught  a  red  cord  with  a  bushy  red  tassel; 
whereat  there  was  a  ringing  that  made  him 
spring  away  from  it.  A  moment  later  there 
was  a  knock  at  his  door. 

"  Did  you  ring,  suh  ?"  asked  a  voice.  What 
that  meant  he  did  not  know,  and  he  made 
no  answer.  The  door  was  opened  slightly  and 
a  woolly  head  appeared. 

"Do  you  want  anything,  suh  ?" 

"No." 

"Den  I  reckon  hit  was  anudder  bell — 
Yassuh." 

The  boy  began  putting  on  his  own  clothes. 

Outside  Colonel  Dale  and  Barbara  had 
strolled  down  the  big  path  to  the  sun-dial, 
the  colonel  telling  the  story  of  the  little 
Kentucky  kinsman — the  little  girl  listening 
and  wide-eyed. 

"Is  he  going  to  live  here  with  us,  papa  ?" 

"Perhaps.    You    must    be    very    nice    to 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  41 

him.  He  has  lived  a  rude,  rough  life,  but  I 
can  see  he  is  very  sensitive/' 

At  the  bend  of  the  river  there  was  the  flash 
of  dripping  oars,  and  the  song  of  the  black 
oarsmen  came  across  the  yellow  flood. 

"There  they  come!"  cried  Barbara.  And 
from  his  window  the  little  Kentuckian  saw 
the  company  coming  up  the  path,  brave  with 
gay  clothes  and  smiles  and  gallantries.  The 
colonel  walked  with  a  grand  lady  at  the  head, 
behind  were  the  belles  and  beaux,  and  bring- 
ing up  the  rear  was  Barbara,  escorted  by  a 
youth  of  his  own  age,  who  carried  his  hat 
under  his  arm  and  bore  himself  as  haughtily 
as  his  elders.  No  sooner  did  he  see  them 
mounting  to  the  porch  than  there  was  the 
sound  of  a  horn  in  the  rear,  and  looking  out 
of  the  other  window  the  lad  saw  a  coach  and 
four  dash  through  the  gate  and  swing  around 
the  road  that  encircled  the  great  trees,  and 
up  to  the  rear  portico,  where  there  was  a 
joyous  clamor  of  greetings.  Where  did  all 
those  people  come  from  ?  Were  they  going 
to  stay  there  and  would  he  have  to  be  among 
them  ?  All  the  men  were  dressed  alike  and 
not  one  was  dressed  like  him.  Panic  as- 


42  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

sailed  him,  and  once  more  he  looked  at  the 
clothes  on  the  bed,  and  then  without  hesita- 
tion walked  through  the  hallway,  and  stopped 
on  the  threshold  of  the  front  door.  A  quaint 
figure  he  made  there,  and  for  the  moment  the 
gay  talk  and  laughter  quite  ceased.  The 
story  of  him  already  had  been  told,  and  al- 
ready was  sweeping  from  cabin  to  cabin  to 
the  farthest  edge  of  the  great  plantation. 
Mrs.  General  Willoughby  lifted  her  lorgnettes 
to  study  him  curiously,  the  young  ladies 
turned  a  battery  of  searching  but  friendly  rays 
upon  him,  the  young  men  regarded  him  with 
tolerance  and  repressed  amusement,  and  Bar- 
bara, already  his  champion,  turned  her  eyes 
from  one  to  the  other  of  them,  but  always  see- 
ing him.  No  son  of  Powhatan  could  have 
stood  there  with  more  dignity,  and  young 
Harry  Dale's  face  broke  into  a  smile  of  wel- 
come. His  father  being  indoors  he  went  for- 
ward with  hand  outstretched. 

"I  am  your  cousin  Harry,"  he  said,  and 
taking  him  by  the  arm  he  led  him  on  the 
round  of  presentation. 

"Mrs.  Willoughby,  may  I  present  my  cous- 
in from  Kentucky?" 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  43 

"This  is  your  cousin,  Miss  Katherine  Dale; 
another  cousin,  Miss  Mary;  and  this  is  your 
cousin  Hugh." 

And  the  young  ladies  greeted  him  with 
frank,  eager  interest,  and  the  young  gentle- 
men suddenly  repressed  patronizing  smiles 
and  gave  him  grave  greeting,  for  if  ever  a 
rapier  flashed  from  a  human  head,  it  flashed 
from  the  piercing  black  eye  of  that  little  Ken- 
tucky backwoodsman  when  his  cousin  Hugh, 
with  a  rather  whimsical  smile,  bowed  with 
a  politeness  that  was  a  trifle  too  elaborate. 
Mrs.  Willoughby  still  kept  her  lorgnettes  on 
him  as  he  stood  leaning  against  a  pillar. 
She  noted  the  smallness  of  his  hands  and  feet, 
the  lithe,  perfect  body,  the  clean  cut  of  his 
face,  and  she  breathed: 

"He  is  a  Dale— and  blood  does  tell." 

Nobody,  not  even  she,  guessed  how  the 
lad's  heart  was  thumping  with  the  effort  to 
conceal  his  embarrassment,  but  when  a  tinge 
of  color  spread  on  each  side  of  his  set  mouth 
and  his  eyes  began  to  waver  uncertainly,  Mrs. 
Willoughby's  intuition  was  quick  and  kind. 

"Barbara,"  she  asked,  "have  you  shown 
your  cousin  your  ponies  ? " 


44  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

The  little  girl  saw  her  motive  and  laughed 
merrily: 

"Why,  I  haven't  had  time  to  show  him  any- 
thing. Come  on,  cousin." 

The  boy  followed  her  down  the  steps  in 
his  noiseless  moccasins,  along  a  grass  path 
between  hedges  of  ancient  box,  around  an  ell, 
and  past  the  kitchen  and  toward  the  stables. 
In  and  behind  the  kitchen  negroes  of  all  ages 
and  both  sexes  were  hurrying  or  lazing  aroimd, 
and  each  turned  to  stare  wonderingly  after 
the  strange  woodland  figure  of  the  little 
hunter.  Negroes  were  coming  in  from  the 
fields  with  horses  and  mules,  negroes  were 
chopping  and  carrying  wood,  'there  were 
negroes  everywhere,  and  the  lad  had  never 
seen  one  before,  but  he  showed  no  surprise. 
At  a  gate  the  little  girl  called  imperiously: 

"Ephraim,  bring  out  my  ponies  !" 

And  in  a  moment  out  came  a  sturdy  little 
slave  whose  head  was  all  black  skin,  black 
wool,  and  white  teeth,  leading  two  creamy- 
white  little  horses  that  shook  the  lad's  com- 
posure at  last,  for  he  knew  ponies  as  far  back 
as  he  could  remember,  but  he  had  never  seen 
the  like  of  them.  His  hand  almost  trembled 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  45 

when  he  ran  it  over  their  sleek  coats,  and 
unconsciously  he  dropped  into  his  Indian 
speech  and  did  not  know  it  until  the  girl 
asked  laughingly: 

"Why,  what  are  you  saying  to  my  ponies  ?" 

And  he  blushed,  for  the  little  girl's  artless 
prattling  and  friendliness  were  already  be- 
ginning to  make  him  quite  human. 

"That's  Injun  talk." 

"Can  you  talk  Indian — but,  of  course, 
you  can." 

"Better  than  English,"  he  smiled. 

Hugh  had  followed  them. 

"Barbara,  your  mother  wants  you,"  he 
said,  and  the  little  girl  turned  toward  the 
house.  The  stranger  was  ill  at  ease  with 
Hugh  and  the  latter  knew  it. 

"It  must  be  very  exciting  where  you  live." 

"How?" 

"Oh,   fighting  Indians  and  shooting  deer 
and  turkeys  and  buffalo.     It  must  be  great ' 
fun." 

"Nobody  does  it  for  fun — it's  mighty  hard 
work." 

"My  uncle — your  father — used  to  tell  us 
about  his  wonderful  adventures  out  there." 


46  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"He  had  no  chance  to  tell  me." 

"But  yours  must  have  been  more  wonder- 
ful than  his." 

The  boy  gave  the  little  grunt  that  was  a 
survival  of  his  Indian  life  and  turned  to  go 
back  to  the  house. 

"But  all  this,  I  suppose,  is  as  strange  to 
you." 

"More." 

Hugh  was  polite  and  apparently  sincere 
in  interest,  but  the  lad  was  vaguely  dis- 
turbed and  he  quickened  his  step.  The 
porch  was  empty  when  they  turned  the  corner 
of  the  house,  but  young  Harry  Dale  came 
running  down  the  steps,  his  honest  face  alight, 
and  caught  the  little  Kentuckian  by  the 
arm. 

"Get  ready  for  supper,  Hugh — come  on, 
cousin,"  he  said,  and  led  the  stranger  to  his 
room  and  pointed  to  the  clothes  on  the  bed. 

"Don't  they  fit?"  he  asked  smiling. 

"I  don't  know — I  don't  know  how  to  git 
into  'em." 

Young  Harry  laughed  joyously. 

"Of  course  not.  I  wouldn't  know  how 
to  put  yours  on  either.  You  just  wait," 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  47 

he  cried,  and  disappeared  to  return  quickly 
with  an  armful  of  clothes. 

"Take  off  your  war-dress,"  he  said,  "and 
I'll  show  you." 

With  heart  warming  to  such  kindness, 
and  helpless  against  it,  the  lad  obeyed  like 
a  child  and  was  dressed  like  a  child. 

"Now,  I've  got  to  hurry,"  said  Harry. 
"I'll  come  back  for  you.  Just  look  at  your- 
self," he  called  at  the  door. 

And  the  stranger  did  look  at  the  wonder- 
ful vision  that  a  great  mirror  as  tall  as  him- 
self gave  back.  His  eyes  began  to  sting,  and 
he  rubbed  them  with  the  back  of  his  hand 
and  looked  at  the  hand  curiously.  It  was 
moist.  He  had  seen  tears  in  a  woman's 
eyes,  but  he  did  not  know  that  they  could 
come  to  a  man,  and  he  felt  ashamed. 


THE  boy  stood  at  a  window  looking  out 
into  the  gathering  dusk.  His  eye  could 
catch  the  last  red  glow  on  the  yellow  river. 
Above  that  a  purplish  light  rested  on  the 
green  expanse  stretching  westward — stretch- 
ing on  and  on  through  savage  wilds  to  his 
own  wilds  beyond  the  lonely  Cumberlands. 
Outside  the  window  the  multitude  of  flowers 
was  drinking  in  the  dew  and  drooping  rest- 
fully  to  sleep.  A  multitude  of  strange  birds 
called  and  twittered  from  the  trees.  The 
neighing  of  horses,  the  lowing  of  cattle, 
the  piping  of  roosting  turkeys  and  motherly 
clutter  of  roosting  hens,  the  weird  songs  of 
negroes,  the  sounds  of  busy  preparation 
through  the  house  and  from  the  kitchen — 
all  were  sounds  of  peace  and  plenty,  security 
and  service.  And  over  in  his  own  wilds  at 
that  hour  they  were  driving  cows  and  horses 
into  the  stockade.  They  were  cooking  their 
rude  supper  in  the  open.  A  man  had  gone 
to  each  of  the  watch-towers.  From  the 
48 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  49 

blackening  woods  came  the  curdling  cry  of 
a  panther  and  the  hooting  of  owls.  Away  on 
over  the  still  westward  wilds  were  the  wig- 
wams of  squaws,  pappooses,  braves,  the  red 
men — red  in  skin,  in  blood,  in  heart,  and  red 
with  hate  against  the  whites. 

Perhaps  they  were  circling  a  fire  at  that 
moment  in  a  frenzied  war-dance — perhaps 
the  hooting  at  that  moment  from  the  woods 
around  the  fort  was  not  the  hooting  of  owls 
at  all.  There  all  was  hardship — danger;  here 
all  was  comfort  and  peace.  If  they  could  see 
him  now !  See  his  room,  his  fire,  his  bed,  his 
clothes !  They  had  told  him  to  come,  and 
yet  he  felt  now  the  shame  of  desertion.  He 
had  come,  but  he  would  not  stay  long  away. 
The  door  opened,  he  turned,  and  Harry 
Dale  came  eagerly  in. 

"Mother  wants  to  see  you." 

The  two  boys  paused  in  the  hall  and  Harry 
pointed  to  a  pair  of  crossed  rapiers  over  the 
mantelpiece. 

"Those  were  your  father's,"  he  said;  "he 
was  a  wonderful  fencer." 

The  lad  shook  his  head  in  ignorance,  and 
Harry  smiled. 


5o  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"I'll  show  you  to-morrow." 

At  a  door  in  the  other  ell  Harry  knocked 
gently,  and  a  voice  that  was  low  and  sweet 
but  vibrant  with  imperiousness  called: 

"Come  in!" 

"Here  he  is,  mother." 

The  lad  stepped  into  warmth,  subtle  fra- 
grance, and  many  candle  lights.  The  great 
lady  was  just  rising  from  a  chair  in  front  of 
her  mirror,  brocaded,  powdered,  and  starred 
with  jewels.  So  brilliant  a  vision  almost 
stunned  the  little  stranger  and  it  took  an 
effort  for  him  to  lift  his  eyes  to  hers. 

"Why,  this  is  not  the  lad  you  told  me  of," 
she  said.  "Come  here!  Both  of  you." 
They  came  and  the  lady  scrutinized  them 
comparingly. 

"Actually  you  look  alike — and,  Harry,  you 
have  no  advantage,  even  if  you  are  my  own 
son.  I  am  glad  you  are  here,"  she  said  with 
sudden  soberness,  and  smiling  tenderly  she 
put  both  hands  on  his  shoulders,  drew  him 
to  her  and  kissed  him,  and  again  he  felt  in 
his  eyes  that  curious  sting. 

"Come,  Harry!"  With  a  gallant  bow 
Harry  offered  his  left  arm,  and  gathering  the 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  51 

little  Kentuckian  with  her  left,  the  regal 
lady  swept  out.  In  the  reception-room  she 
kept  the  boy  by  her  side.  Every  man  who 
approached  bowed,  and  soon  the  lad  was  bow- 
ing, too.  The  ladies  courtesied,  the  room  was 
soon  filled,  and  amid  the  flash  of  smiles, 
laughter,  and  gay  banter  the  lad  was  much 
bewildered,  but  his  face  showed  it  not  at  all. 
Barbara  almost  cried  out  her  astonishment 
and  pleasure  when  she  saw  what  a  handsome 
figure  he  made  in  his  new  clothing,  and  all 
her  little  friends  were  soon  darting  surrepti- 
tious glances  at  him,  and  many  whispered 
questions  and  pleasing  comments  were  passed 
around.  From  under  Hugh's  feet  the  ground 
for  the  moment  was  quite  taken  away,  so 
much  to  the  eye,  at  least,  do  clothes  make 
the  man.  Just  then  General  Willoughby 
bowed  with  noble  dignity  before  Mrs.  Dale, 
and  the  two  led  the  way  to  the  dining-room. 

"Harry,"  she  said,  "you  and  Barbara  take 
care  of  your  cousin." 

And  almost  without  knowing  it  the  young 
Kentuckian  bowed  to  Barbara,  who  courte- 
sied and  took  his  arm.  But  for  his  own  dig- 
nity and  hers,  she  would  have  liked  to  squeal 


52  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

her  delight.  The  table  flashed  with  silver 
and  crystal  on  snowy-white  damask  and  was 
brilliant  with  colored  candles.  The  little 
woodsman  saw  the  men  draw  back  chairs 
for  the  ladies,  and  he  drew  back  Barbara's 
before  Hugh,  on  the  other  side  of  her,  could 
forestall  him.  On  his  left  was  Harry,  and 
Harry  he  watched  keenly — but  no  more 
keenly  than  Hugh  watched  him.  Every  now 
and  then  he  would  catch  a  pair  of  interested 
eyes  looking  furtively  at  him,  and  he  knew 
his  story  was  going  the  round  of  the  table 
among  those  who  were  not  guests  in  the  house. 
The  boy  had  never  seen  so  many  and  so  mys- 
terious-looking things  to  eat  and  drink.  One 
glass  of  wine  he  took,  and  the  quick  dizzi- 
ness that  assailed  him  frightened  him,  and 
he  did  not  touch  it  again.  Beyond  Barbara, 
Hugh  leaned  forward  and  lifted  his  glass  to 
him.  He  shook  his  head  and  Hugh  flushed. 

"Our  Kentucky  cousin  is  not  very  polite — 
he  is  something  of  a  barbarian — naturally." 

"He  doesn't  understand,"  said  Barbara 
quickly,  who  had  noted  the  incident,  and  she 
turned  to  her  cousin. 

"Papa  says  you  are  going  to  live  with  us 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  53 

and  you  are  going  to  study  with  Harry  under 
Mr.  Brockton." 

"Our  tutor,"  explained  Harry;  "there  he 
is  across  there.  He  is  an  Englishman." 

"Tutor?"  questioned  the  boy. 

"School-teacher,"  laughed  Harry. 

"Oh!" 

"Haven't  you  any  school-teachers  at 
home  ?" 

"No,  I  learned  to  read  and  write  a  little 
from  Dave  and  Lyddy." 

And  then  he  had  to  tell  who  they  were, 
and  he  went  on  to  tell  them  about  Mother 
Sanders  and  Honor  and  Bud  and  Jack  and 
Polly  Conrad  and  Lydia  and  Dave,  and  all 
the  frontier  folk,  and  the  life  they  led,  and 
the  Indian  fights  which  thrilled  Barbara  and 
Harry,  and  forced  even  Hugh  to  listen — 
though  once  he  laughed  incredulously,  and 
in  a  way  that  of  a  sudden  shut  the  boy's  lips 
tight  and  made  Barbara  color  and  Harry 
look  grave.  Hugh  then  turned  to  his  wine 
and  began  soon  to  look  more  flushed  and 
sulky.  Shortly  after  the  ladies  left,  Hugh 
followed  them,  and  Harry  and  the  Kentuck- 
ian  moved  toward  the  head  of  the  table 


54  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

where  the  men  had  gathered  around  Colonel 
Dale. 

"Yes,"  said  General  Willoughby,  "it  looks 
as  though  it  might  come." 

"With  due  deference  to  Mr.  Brockton," 
said  Colonel  Dale,  "it  looks  as  though  his 
country  would  soon  force  us  to  some  action." 

They  were  talking  about  impending  war. 
Far  away  as  his  wilds  were,  the  boy  had  heard 
some  talk  of  war  in  them,  and  he  listened 
greedily  to  the  quick  fire  of  question  and 
argument  directed  to  the  Englishman,  who 
held  his  own  with  such  sturdiness  that  Colonel 
Dale,  fearing  the  heat  might  become  too  great, 
laughed  and  skilfully  shifted  the  theme. 
Through  hall  and  doorways  came  now  merry 
sounds  of  fiddle  and  banjo. 

"Come  on,  cousin,"  said  Harry;  "can  you 
dance  ?" 

"If  your  dances  are  as  different  as  every- 
thing else,  I  reckon  not,  but  I  can  try." 

Near  a  doorway  between  parlor  and ,  hall 
sat  the  fiddlers  three.  Gallant  bows  and 
dainty  courtesyings  and  nimble  feet  were 
tripping  measures  quite  new  to  the  back- 
woodsman. Barbara  nodded,  smiled,  and 


ERSKINE  DALE-PIONEER  55 

after  the  dance  ran  up  to  ask  him  to  take  part, 
but  he  shook  his  head.  Hugh  had  looked  at 
him  as  from  a  superior  height,  and  the  boy 
noticed  him  frowning  while  Barbara  was  chal- 
lenging him  to  dance.  The  next  dance  was 
even  more  of  a  mystery,  for  the  dancers 
glided  by  in  couples,  Mr.  Byron's  diatribe  not 
having  prevented  the  importation  of  the  waltz 
to  the  new  world,  but  the  next  cleared  his 
face  and  set  his  feet  to  keeping  time,  for  the 
square  dance  had,  of  course,  reached  ,  vvild, 

"I  know  that,"  he  said  to  Harry,  „       Loh 
Barbara,  and  the  little  girl  went  up        hi& 
again,  and  this  time,  flushing,  he  too1    place 
with  her  on  the  floor.     Hugh  came  up. 

"Cousin  Barbara,  this  is  our  dance,  I  be- 
lieve," he  said  a  little  thickly. 

The  girl  took  him  aside  and  Hugh  went 
surlily  away.  Harry  saw  the  incident  and 
he  looked  after  Hugh,  frowning.  The  back- 
woodsman conducted  himself  very  well.  He 
was  lithe  and  graceful  and  at  first  very  digni- 
fied, but  as  he  grew  in  confidence  he  began 
to  execute  steps  that  were  new  to  that  polite 
land  and  rather  boisterous,  but  Barbara 
looked  pleased  and  all  onlookers  seemed 


56  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

greatly  amused — all  except  Hugh.  And  when 
the  old  fiddler  sang  out  sonorously: 

"Genelmen  to  right — cheat  an'  swing!" 
the  boy  cheated  outrageously,  cheated  all  but 
his  little  partner,  to  whom  each  time  he  turned 
with  open  loyalty,  and  Hugh  was  openly 
sneering  now  and  genuinely  angry. 

"You  shall  have  the  last  dance,"  whispered 
Barbara,  "the  Virginia  reel." 

"I  know  that  dance,"  said  the  boy. 

And  when  that  dance  came  and  the  dancers 
were  drawn  in  two  lines,  the  boy  who  was 
third  from  the  end  heard  Harry's  low  voice 
behind  him: 

"He  is  my  cousin  and  my  guest  and  you 
will  answer  to  me." 

The  lad  wheeled,  saw  Harry  with  Hugh, 
left  his  place,  and  went  to  them.  He  spoke 
to  Harry,  but  he  looked  at  Hugh  with  a 
sword-flash  in  each  black  eye : 

"I  don't  want  nobody  to  take  up  for  me." 

Again  he  wheeled  and  was  in  his  place, 
but  Barbara  saw  and  looked  troubled,  and 
so  did  Colonel  Dale.  He  went  over  to  the 
two  boys  and  put  his  arm  around  Hugh's 
shoulder. 


'I  don't  want  nobody  to  take  up  for  me" 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  57 

"Tut,  tut,  my  boys,"  he  said,  with  pleasant 
firmness,  and  led  Hugh  away,  and  when 
General  Willoughby  would  have  followed, 
the  colonel  nodded  him  back  with  a  smile, 
and  Hugh  was  seen  no  more  that  night.  The 
guests  left  with  gayety,  smiles,  and  laughter, 
and  every  one  gave  the  stranger  a  kindly 
good-by.  Again  Harry  went  with  him  to  his 
room  and  the  lad  stopped  again  under  the 
crossed  swords. 

" You  fight  with  'em?" 

"Yes,  and  with  pistols." 

"I've  never  had  a  pistol.  I  want  to  learn 
how  to  use  them" 

Harry  looked  at  him  searchingly,  but  the 
boy's  face  gave  hint  of  no  more  purpose  than 
when  he  first  asked  the  same  question. 

"All  right,"  said  Harry. 

The  lad  blew  out  his  candle,  but  he  went 
to  his  window  instead  of  his  bed.  The  moon- 
light was  brilliant  among  the  trees  and  on  the 
sleeping  flowers  and  the  slow  run  of  the  broad 
river,  and  it  was  very  still  out  there  and  very 
lovely,  but  he  had  no  wish  to  be  out  there. 
With  wind  and  storm  and  sun,  moon  and 
stars,  he  had  lived  face  to  face  all  his  life,  but 


58  ERSKINE  DALE-PIONEER 

here  they  were  not  the  same.  Trees,  flowers, 
house,  people  had  reared  some  wall  between 
him  and  them,  and  they  seemed  now  to  be 
very  far  away.  Everybody  had  been  kind 
to  him — all  but  Hugh.  Veiled  hostility  he 
had  never  known  before  and  he  could  not 
understand.  Everybody  had  surely  been 
kind,  and  yet — he  turned  to  his  bed,  and  all 
night  his  brain  was  flashing  to  and  fro  be- 
tween the  reel  of  vivid  pictures  etched  on  it 
in  a  day  and  the  grim  background  that  had 
hitherto  been  his  life  beyond  the  hills. 


VI 

FROM  pioneer  habit  he  awoke  before  dawn, 
and  for  a  moment  the  softness  where  he  lay 
puzzled  him.  There  was  no  sound  of  any- 
body stirring  and  he  thought  he  must  have 
waked  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  but  he 
could  smell  the  dawn  and  he  started  to  spring 
up.  But  there  was  nothing  to  be  done,  noth- 
ing that  he  could  do.  He  felt  hot  and  stuffy, 
though  Harry  had  put  up  his  windows,  and 
he  could  not  lie  there  wide  awake.  He  could 
not  go  out  in  the  heavy  dew  in  the  gay  clothes 
and  fragile  shoes  he  had  taken  off,  so  he  slid 
into  his  own  buckskin  clothes  and  moccasins 
and  out  the  still  open  front  door  and  down 
the  path  toward  the  river.  Instinctively  he 
had  picked  up  his  rifle,  bullet-pouch,  and 
powder-horn.  Up  the  river  to  the  right  he 
could  faintly  see  dark  woods,  and  he  made 
toward  and  plunged  into  them  with  his  eyes 
on  the  ground  for  signs  of  game,  but  he  saw 
tracks  only  of  coon  and  skunk  and  fox,  and 
he  grunted  his  disgust  and  loped  ahead  for 

59 


60  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

half  an  hour  farther  into  the  heart  of  the 
woods.  An  hour  later  he  loped  back  on  his 
own  tracks.  The  cabins  were  awake  now, 
and  every  pickaninny  who  saw  him  showed 
the  whites  of  his  eyes  in  terror  and  fled  back 
into  his  house.  He  came  noiselessly  behind  a 
negro  woman  at  the  kitchen-door  and  threw 
three  squirrels  on  the  steps  before  her.  She 
turned,  saw  him,  and  gave  a  shriek,  but  re- 
covered herself  and  picked  them  up.  Her 
amazement  grew  as  she  looked  them  over, 
for  there  was  no  sign  of  a  bullet-wound,  and 
she  went  in  to  tell  how  the  Injun  boy  must 
naturally  just  "charm  'em  right  out  oj  de 
.trees." 

At  the  front  door  Harry  hailed  him  and 
Barbara  came  running  out. 

"  I  forgot  to  get  you  another  suit  of  clothes 
last  night,"  he  said,  "and  we  were  scared 
this  morning.  We  thought  you  had  left  us, 
and  Barbara  there  nearly  cried."  Barbara 
blushed  now  and  did  not  deny. 

"Come  to  breakfast !"  she  cried. 

"Did  you  find  anything  to  shoot  ?"  Harry 
asked. 

"Nothin*  but  some  squirrels,"  said  the  lad. 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  61 

Colonel  Dale  soon  came  in. 

"You've  got  the  servants  mystified/'  he 
said  laughingly.  "They  think  you're  a  witch. 
How  did  you  kill  those  squirrels  ?" 

"I  couldn't  see  their  heads — so  I  barked 


'em." 


"Barked?" 

"I  shot  between  the  bark  and  the  limb 
right  under  the  squirrel,  an'  the  shock  kills 
'em.  Uncle  Dan'l  Boone  showed  me  how  to 
do  that." 

"Daniel  Boone!"  breathed  Harry.  "Do 
you  know  Daniel  Boone  ?" 

"Shucks,  Dave  can  beat  him  shootinV 

And  then  Hugh  came  in,  pale  of  face  and 
looking  rather  ashamed.  He  went  straight 
to  the  Kentuckian. 

"I  was  rude  to  you  last  night  and  I  owe 
you  an  apology." 

He  thrust  out  his  hand  and  awkwardly  the 
boy  rose  and  took  it. 

"And  you'll  forgive  me,  too,  Barbara  ?" 

"Of  course  I  will,"  she  said  happily,  but 
holding  up  one  finger  of  warning — should  he 
ever  do  it  again.  The  rest  of  the  guests 
trooped  in  now,  and  some  were  going  out  on 


62  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

horseback,  some  for  a  sail,  and  some  visiting 
up  the  river  in  a  barge,  and  all  were  paired 
off,  even  Harry. 

"I'm  going  to  drive  Cousin  Erskine  over 
the  place  with  my  ponies,"  said  Barbara, 
"and " 

"Fm  going  back  to  bed,"  interrupted  Hugh, 
"or  read  a  little  Latin  and  Greek  with  Mr. 
Brockton."  There  was  impudence  as  well 
as  humor  in  this,  for  the  tutor  had  given  up 
Hugh  in  despair  long  ago. 

Barbara  shook  her  head. 

"You  are  going  with  us,"  she  said. 

"I  want  Hugh  to  ride  with  me,"  said 
Colonel  Dale,  "and  give  Firefly  a  little  exer- 
cise. Nobody  else  can  ride  him." 

The  Kentucky  boy  turned  a  challenging 
eye,  as  did  every  young  man  at  the  table, 
and  Hugh  felt  very  comfortable.  While  every 
one  was  getting  ready,  Harry  brought  out  two 
foils  and  two  masks  on  the  porch  a  little  later. 

"We  fight  with  those,"  he  said,  pointing 
to  the  crossed  rapiers  on  the  wall,  "but  we 
practise  with  these.  Hugh,  there,  is  the 
champion  fencer,"  he  said,  "and  he'll  show 
you." 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  63 

Harry  helped  the  Kentucky  boy  to  mask 
and  they  crossed  foils — Hugh  giving  instruc- 
tions all  the  time  and  nodding  approval. 

"You'll  learn— you'll  learn  fast,"  he  said. 
And  over  his  shoulder  to  Harry: 

"Why,  his  wrist  is  as  strong  as  mine  now, 
and  he's  got  an  eye  like  a  weasel." 

With  a  twist  he  wrenched  the  foil  from  his 
antagonist's  hand  and  clattered  it  on  the 
steps.  The  Kentuckian  was  bewildered  and 
his  face  flushed.  He  ran  for  the  weapon. 

"You  can't  do  that  again." 

"I  don't  believe  I  can,"  laughed  Hugh. 

"Will  you  learn  me  some  more  ?"  asked  the 
boy  eagerly. 

"I  surely  will." 

A  little  later  Barbara  and  her  cousin  were 
trotting  smartly  along  a  sandy  road  through 
the  fields  with  the  colonel  and  Hugh  loping 
in  front  of  them.  Firefly  was  a  black  mettle- 
some gelding.  He  had  reared  and  plunged 
when  Hugh  mounted,  and  even  now  he  was 
champing  his  bit  and  leaping  playfully  at 
times,  but  the  lad  sat  him  with  an  unconcern 
of  his  capers  that  held  the  Kentucky  boy's 
eyes. 


6*  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"Gosh,"  he  said,  "but  Hugh  can  ride! 
I  wonder  if  he  could  stay  on  him  bareback.'* 

"I  suppose  so,"  Barbara  said;  "Hugh  can 
do  anything." 

The  summer  fields  of  corn  and  grain  waved 
away  on  each  side  under  the  wind,  innumera- 
ble negroes  were  at  work  and  song  on  either 
side,  great  barns  and  whitewashed  cabins 
dotted  the  rich  landscape  which  beyond  the 
plantation  broke  against  woods  of  sombre 
pines.  For  an  hour  they  drove,  the  boy's 
bewildered  eye  missing  few  details  and  under- 
standing few,  so  foreign  to  him  were  all  the 
changes  wrought  by  the  hand,  and  he  could 
hardly  have  believed  that  this  country  was 
once  as  wild  as  his  own — that  this  was  to  be 
impoverished  and  his  own  become  even  a 
richer  land.  Many  questions  the  little  girl 
asked — and  some  of  his  answers  made  her 
shudder. 

"Papa  said  last  night  that  several  of  our 
kinsfolk  spoke  of  going  to  your  country  in  a 
party,  and  Harry  and  Hugh  are  crazy  to  go 
with  them.  Papa  said  people  would  be 
swarming  over  the  Cumberland  Mountains 
before  long." 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  65 

"  I  wish  you'd  come  along." 

Barbara  laughed. 

"I  wouldn't  like  to  lose  my  hair." 

"I'll  watch  out  for  that,"  said  the  boy 
with  such  confident  gravity  that  Barbara 
turned  to  look  at  him. 

"I  believe  you  would,"  she  murmured. 
And  presently: 

"What  did  the  Indians  call  you  ?" 

"White  Arrow." 

"White  Arrow.     That's  lovely.     Why?" 

"I  could  outrun  all  the  other  boys." 

"Then  you'll  have  to  run  to-morrow  when 
we  go  to  the  fair  at  Williamsburg." 

"The  fair?" 

Barbara  explained. 

For  an  hour  or  more  they  had  driven  and 
there  was  no  end  to  the  fields  of  tobacco  and 
grain. 

"Are  we  still  on  your  land  ?" 

Barbara  laughed.  "Yes,  we  can't  drive 
around  the  plantation  and  get  back  for  din- 
ner. I  think  we'd  better  turn  now." 

"Plan-ta-tion,"  said  the  lad.  "What's 
that  ?" 

Barbara  waved  her  whip. 


66  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"Why,  all  this— the  land— the  farm." 

"Oh!" 

"It's  called  Red  Oaks— from  those  big 
trees  back  of  the  house." 

"Oh.     I  know  oaks— all  of  'em.'"' 

She  wheeled  the  ponies  and  with  fresh 
zest  they  scampered  for  home.  She  even 
let  them  run  for  a  while,  laughing  and  chat- 
ting meanwhile,  though  the  light  wagon 
swayed  from  side  to  side  perilously  as  the  boy 
thought,  and  when,  in  his  ignorance  of  the 
discourtesy  involved,  he  was  on  the  point  of 
reaching  for  the  reins,  she  spoke  to  them  and 
pulled  them  gently  into  a  swift  trot.  Every- 
body had  gathered  for  the  noonday  dinner 
when  they  swung  around  the  great  trees  and 
up  to,  the  back  porch.  The  clamor  of  the 
great  bell  gave  its  summons  and  the  guests 
began  straggling  in  by  couples  from  the  gar- 
den. Just  as  they  were  starting  in  the 
Kentucky  boy  gave  a  cry  and  darted  down  the 
path.  A  towering  figure  in  coonskin  cap  and 
hunter's  garb  was  halted  at  the  sun-dial  and 
looking  toward  them. 

"Now,  I  wonder  who  that  is,"  said  Colonel 
Dale.  "Jur  .%  but  that  boy  can  run!" 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  67 

They  saw  the  tall  stranger  stare  wonder- 
ingly  at  the  boy  and  throw  back  his  head  and 
laugh.  Then  the  two  came  on  together.  The 
boy  was  still  flushed  but  the  hunter's  face 
was  grave. 

"This  is  Dave,"  said  the  boy  simply. 

"Dave  Yandell,"  added  the  stranger,  smil- 
ing and  taking  off  his  cap.  "I've  been  at 
Williamsburg  to  register  some  lands  and  I 
thought  I'd  come  and  see  how  this  young  man 
is  getting  along." 

Colonel  Dale  went  quickly  to  meet  him  with 
outstretched  hand. 

"I'm  glad  you  did,"  he  said  heartily. 
"Erskine  has  already  told  us  about  you. 
You  are  just  in  time  for  dinner." 

"That's  mighty  kind,"  said  Dave.  And 
the  ladies,  after  he  was  presented,  still  looked 
at  him  with  much  curiosity  and  great  interest. 
Truly,  strange  visitors  were  coming  to  Red 
Oaks  these  days. 

That  night  the  subject  of  Hugh  and  Harry 
going  back  home  with  the  two  Kentuckians 
wa?  broached  to  Colonel  Dale,  and  to  the  won- 
dering delight  of  the  two  boys  both  fathers 
seemed  to  consider  it  favorably.  Mr.  Brock- 


68  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

ton  was  going  to  England  for  a  visit,  the 
summer  was  coming  on,  and  both  fathers 
thought  it  would  be  a  great  benefit  to  their 
sons.  Even  Mrs.  Dale,  on  whom  the  hunter 
had  made  a  most  agreeable  impression,  smiled 
and  said  she  would  already  be  willing  to  trust 
her  son  with  their  new  guest  anywhere. 

"I  shall  take  good  care  of  him,  madam," 
said  Dave  with  a  bow. 

Colonel  Dale,  too,  was  greatly  taken  with 
the  stranger,  and  he  asked  many  questions 
of  the  new  land  beyond  the  mountains. 
There  was  dancing  again  that  night,  and  the 
hunter,  towering  a  head  above  them  all, 
looked  on  with  smiling  interest.  He  even  took 
part  in  a  square  dance  with  Miss  Jane  Wil- 
loughby,  handling  his  great  bulk  with  aston- 
ishing grace  and  lightness  of  foot.  Then 
the  elder  gentlemen  went  into  the  drawing- 
room  to  their  port  and  pipes,  and  the  boy 
Erskine  slipped  after  them  and  listened  en- 
thralled to  the  talk  of  the  coming  war. 

Colonel  Dale  had  been  in  Hanover  ten 
years  before,  when  one  Patrick  Henry  voiced 
the  first  intimation  of  independence  in  Vir- 
ginia; Henry,  a  country  storekeeper — bank- 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  69- 

rupt;  fanner — bankrupt;  storekeeper  again, 
and  bankrupt  again;  an  idler,  hunter,  fisher, 
and  story-teller — even  a  "barkeeper,"  as  Mr. 
Jefferson  once  dubbed  him,  because  Henry 
had  once  helped  his  father-in-law  to  keep 
tavern.  That  far  back  Colonel  Dale  had 
heard  Henry  denounce  the  clergy,  stigmatize 
the  king  as  a  tyrant  who  had  forfeited  all 
claim  to  obedience,  and  had  seen  the  orator 
caught  up  on  the  shoulders  of  the  crowd  and 
amidst  shouts  of  applause  borne  around  the 
court-house  green.  He  had  seen  the  same 
Henry  ride  into  Richmond  two  years  later 
on  a  lean  horse:  with  papers  in  his  saddle- 
pockets,  his  expression  grim,  his  tall  figure 
stooping,  a  peculiar  twinkle  in  his  small  blue 
eyes,  his  brown  wig  without  powder,  his  coat 
peach-blossom  in  color,  his  knee-breeches  of 
leather,  and  his  stockings  of  yarn.  The 
speaker  of  the  Burgesses  was  on  a  dais  under 
a  red  canopy  supported  by  gilded  rods,  and 
the  clerk  sat  beneath  with  a  mace  on  the 
table  before  him,  but  Henry  cried  for  liberty 
or  death,  and  the  shouts  of  treason  failed 
then  and  there  to  save  Virginia  for  the  king. 
The  lad's  brain  whirled.  What  did  all  this 


70  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

mean  ?  Who  was  this  king  and  what  had  he 
done  ?  He  had  known  but  the  one  from  whom 
he  had  run  away.  And  this  talk  of  taxes 
and  Stamp  Acts;  and  where  was  that  strange 
land,  New  England,  whose  people  had  made 
tea  of  the  salt  water  in  Boston  harbor? 
Until  a  few  days  before  he  had  never  known 
what  tea  was,  and  he  didn't  like  it.  When  he 
got  Dave  alone  he  would  learn  and  learn  and 
learn — everything.  And  then  the  young  peo- 
ple came  quietly  in  and  sat  down  quietly, 
and  Colonel  Dale,  divining  what  they  wanted, 
got  Dave  started  on  stories  of  the  wild  wilder- 
ness that  was  his  home — the  first  chapter  in 
the  Iliad  of  Kentucky — the  land  of  dark 
forests  and  cane  thickets  that  separated 
Catawbas,  Creeks,  and  Cherokees  on  the 
south  from  Delawares,  Wyandottes,  and 
Shawnees  on  the  north,  who  fought  one  an- 
other, and  all  of  whom  the  whites  must  fight. 
How  Boone  came  and  stayed  two  years  in 
the  wilderness  alone,  and  when  found  by  his 
brother  was  lying  on  his  back  in  the  woods 
lustily  singing  hymns.  How  hunters  and 
surveyors  followed;  how  the  first  fort  was 
built,  and  the  first  women  stood  on  the  banks 
of  the  Kentucky  River.  He  told  of  the  perils 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  71 

and  hardships  of  the  first  journeys  thither—- 
fights with  wild  beasts  and  wild  men,  chases, 
hand-to-hand  combats,  escapes,  and  mas- 
sacres— and  only  the  breathing  of  his  listen- 
ers could  be  heard,  save  the  sound  of  his  own 
voice.  And  he  came  finally  to  the  story  of 
the  attack  on  the  fort,  the  raising  of  a  small 
hand  above  the  cane,  palm  outward,  and  the 
swift  dash  of  a  slender  brown  body  into  the 
fort,  and  then,  seeing  the  boy's  face  turn  scar- 
let, he  did  not  tell  how  that  same  lad  had 
slipped  back  into  the  woods  even  while  the 
fight  was  going  on,  and  slipped  back  with  the 
bloody  scalp  of  his  enemy,  but  ended  with 
the  timely  coming  of  the  Virginians,  led  by 
the  lad's  father,  who  got  his  death-wound 
at  the  very  gate.  The  tense  breathing  of  his 
listeners  culminated  now  in  one  general  deep 
breath. 

Colonel  Dale  rose  and  turned  to  General 
Willoughby. 

"And  that's  where  he  wants  to  take  our 
boys." 

"Oh,  it's  much  safer  now,"  said  the  hunter. 
"We  have  had  no  trouble  for  some  time,  and 
there's  no  danger  inside  the  fort." 

"I   can  imagine  you  keeping  those  boys 


72  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

inside  the  fort  when  there's  so  much  going 
on  outside.  Still- — "  Colonel  Dale  stopped 
and  the  two  boys  took  heart  again.  The 
ladies  rose  to  go  to  bed,  and  Mrs.  Dale  was 
shaking  her  head  very  doubtfully,  but  she 
smiled  up  at  the  tall  hunter  when  she  bade 
him  good  night. 

"I  shall  not  take  back  what  I  said." 

"Thank  you,  madam,"  said  Dave,  and  he 
bent  his  lips  to  her  absurdly  little  white  hand. 

Colonel  Dale  escorted  the  boy  and  Dave  to 
their  room.  Mr.  Yandell  must  go  with  them 
to  the  fair  at  Williamsburg  next  morning, 
and  Mr.  Yandell  would  go  gladly.  They 
would  spend  the  night  there  and  go  to  the 
Governor's  Ball.  The  next  day  there  was  a 
county  fair,  and  perhaps  Mr.  Henry  would 
speak  again.  Then  Mr.  Yandell  must  come 
back  with  them  to  Red  Oaks  and  pay  them  a 
visit — no,  the  colonel  would  accept  no  excuse 
whatever. 

The  boy  plied  Dave  with  questions  about 
the  people  in  the  wilderness  and  passed  to 
sleep.  Dave  lay  awake  a  long  time  thinking 
that  war  was  sure  to  come.  They  were  Amer- 
icans now,  said  Colonel  Dale — not  Virginians, 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  73 

just  as  nearly  a  century  later  the  same  people 
were  to  say: 

"We    are    not    Americans    now — we    are 
Virginians." 


VII 

IT  was  a  merry  cavalcade  that  swung 
around  the  great  oaks  that  spring  morning 
in  1774.  Two  coaches  with  outriders  and 
postilions  led  the  way  with  their  precious 
freight — the  elder  ladies  in  the  first  coach,  and 
the  second  blossoming  with  flower-like  faces 
and  starred  with  dancing  eyes.  Booted  and 
spurred,  the  gentlemen  rode  behind,  and  after 
them  rolled  the  baggage-wagons,  drawn  by 
mules  in  jingling  harness.  Harry  on  a  chest- 
nut sorrel  and  the  young  Kentuckian  on  a 
high-stepping  gray  followed  the  second  coach 
— Hugh  on  Firefly  champed  the  length  of  the 
column.  Colonel  Dale  and  Dave  brought  up 
the  rear.  The  road  was  of  sand  and  there 
was  little  sound  of  hoof  or  wheel — only  the 
hum  of  voices,  occasional  sallies  when  a 
neighbor  joined  them,  and  laughter  from  the 
second  coach  as  happy  and  care-free  as  the 
singing  of  birds  from  trees  by  the  roadside. 

The  capital  had  been  moved  from  James- 
town to  the  spot  where  Bacon  had  taken  the 

74 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  75 

oath  against  England — then  called  Middle- 
Plantation,  and  now  Williamsburg.  The 
cavalcade  wheeled  into  Gloucester  Street,  and 
Colonel  Dale  pointed  out  to  Dave  the  old 
capitol  at  one  end  and  William  and  Mary 
College  at  the  other.  Mr.  Henry  had  thun- 
dered in  the  old  capitol,  the  Burgesses  had 
their  council-chamber  there,  and  in  the  hall 
there  would  be  a  ball  that  night.  Near  the 
street  was  a  great  building  which  the  colonel 
pointed  out  as  the  governor's  palace,  sur- 
rounded by  pleasure-grounds  of  full  three 
hundred  acres  and  planted  thick  with  linden- 
trees.  My  Lord  Dunmore  lived  there.  Back 
at  the  plantation  Dave  had  read  in  an  old 
copy  of  The  Virginia  Gazette,  amid  advertise- 
ments of  shopkeepers,  the  arrival  and  depar- 
ture of  ships,  and  poetical  bits  that  sang  of 
Myrtilla,  Florella,  and  other  colonial  belles, 
how  the  town  had  made  an  illumination  in 
honor  of  the  recent  arrival  of  the  elegant  Lady 
Dunmore  and  her  three  fine,  sprightly  daugh- 
ters, from  whose  every  look  flashed  goodness  of 
heart.  For  them  the  gentlemen  of  the  Bur- 
gesses were -to  give  a  ball  the  next  night.  At 
this  season  the  planters  came  with  their  fam- 


76  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

ilies  to  the  capitol,  and  the  street  was  as 
brilliant  as  a  fancy-dress  parade  would  be  to 
us  now.  It  was  filled  with  coaches  and  fours. 
Maidens  moved  daintily  along  in  silk  and 
lace,  high-heeled  shoes  and  clocked  stockings. 
Youths  passed  on  spirited  horses,  college 
students  in  academic  dress  swaggered  through 
the  throng,  and  from  his  serene  excellency's 
coach,  drawn  by  six  milk-white  horses,  my 
lord  bowed  grimly  to  the  grave  lifting  of 
hats  on  either  side  of  the  street. 

The  cavalcade  halted  before  a  building 
with  a  leaden  bust  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  over 
the  main  doorway,  the  old  Raleigh  Tavern, 
in  the  Apollo  Room  of  which  Mr.  Jefferson  had 
rapturously  danced  with  his  Belinda,  and 
which  was  to  become  the  Faneuil  Hall  of 
Virginia.  Both  coaches  were  quickly  sur- 
rounded by  bowing  gentlemen,  young  gal- 
lants, and  frolicsome  students.  Dave,  the 
young  Kentuckian,  and  Harry  would  be  put 
up  at  the  tavern,  and,  for  his  own  reasons, 
Hugh  elected  to  stay  with  them.  With  an 
au  revoir  of  white  hands  from  the  coaches,  the 
rest  went  on  to  the  house  of  relatives  and 
friends. 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  77 

Inside  the  tavern  Hugh  was  soon  sur- 
rounded by  fellow  students  and  boon  com- 
panions. He  pressed  Dave  and  the  boy  to 
drink  with  them,  but  Dave  laughingly  de- 
clined and  took  the  lad  up  to  their  room. 
Below  they  could  hear  Hugh's  merriment 
going  on,  and  when  he  came  up-stairs  a  while 
later  his  face  was  flushed,  he  was  in  great 
spirits,  and  was  full  of  enthusiasm  over  a  horse- 
race and  cock-fight  that  he  had  arranged  for 
the  afternoon.  With  him  came  a  youth  of 
his  own  age  with  daredevil  eyes  and  a  suave 
manner,  one  Dane  Grey,  to  whom  Harry 
gave  scant  greeting.  One  patronizing  look 
from  the  stranger  toward  the  Kentucky  boy 
and  within  the  latter  a  fire  of  antagonism  was 
instantly  kindled.  With  a  word  after  the 
two  went  out,  Harry  snorted  his  explanation : 

"Tory!" 

In  the  early  afternoon  coach  and  horse- 
men moved  out  to  an  "old  field."  Hugh  was 
missing  from  the  Dale  party,  and  General 
Willoughby  frowned  when  he  noted  his  son's 
absence.  When  they  arrived  a  most  extraor- 
dinary concert  of  sounds  was  filling  the  air. 
On  a  platform  stood  twenty  fiddlers  in  contest 


78  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

for  a  fiddle — each  sawing  away  for  dear  life 
and  each  playing  a  different  tune — a  custom 
that  still  survives  in  our  own  hills.  After 
this  a  "quire  of  ballads"  was  sung  for. 
Then  a  crowd  of  boys  gathered  to  run  one 
hundred  and  twelve  yards  for  a  hat  worth 
twelve  shillings,  and  Dave  nudged  his  young 
friend.  A  moment  later  Harry  cried  to  Bar- 
bara: 
y" Look  there!" 

There  was  their  young  Indian  lining  up 
with  the  runners,  his  face  calm,  but  an  eager 
light  in  his  eyes.  At  the  word  he  started  off 
almost  leisurely,  until  the  whole  crowd  was 
nearly  ten  yards  ahead  of  him,  and  then  a 
yell  of  astonishment  rose  from  the  crowd. 
The  boy  was  skimming  the  grounds  on  wings. 
Past  one  after  another  he  flew,  and  laughing 
and  hardly  out  of  breath  he  bounded  over  the 
finish,  with  the  first  of  the  rest  laboring  with 
bursting  lungs  ten  yards  behind.  Hugh  and 
Dane  Grey  had  appeared  arm  in  arm  and  were 
moving  through  the  crowd  with  great  gayety 
and  some  boisterousness,  and  when  the  boy 
appeared  with  his  hat  Grey  shouted: 

"Good   for   the    little    savage!"     Erskine 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  7. 

wheeled  furiously  but  Dave  caught  him  hn 
the  arm  and  led  him  back  to  Harry  and  Bar 
bara,  who  looked  so  pleased  that  the  lad's  ill 
humor  passed  at  once. 

"Whut  you  reckon  I  c'n  do  with  this  hat  ?' 

"Put  it  on !"  smiled  Barbara;  but  it  was  sc 
ludicrous  surmounting  his  hunter's  garb  tha 
she  couldn't  help  laughing  aloud.  Harr] 
looked  uneasy,  but  it  was  evident  that  tin 
girl  was  the  one  person  who  could  laugh  a 
the  sensitive  little  woodsman  with  no  offense 

"  I  reckon  you're  right/'  he  said,  and  gravel] 
he  handed  it  to  Harry  and  gravely  Harrj 
accepted  it.  Hugh  and  his  friend  had  no: 
approached  them,  for  Hugh  had  seen  the  frowi 
on  his  father's  face,  but  Erskine  saw  Gre^ 
look  long  at  Barbara,  turn  to  question  Hugh 
and  again  he  began  to  burn  within. 

The  wrestlers  had  now  stepped  forth  tx 
battle  for  a  pair  of  silver  buckles,  and  th< 
boy  in  turn  nudged  Dave,  but  unavailingly 
The  wrestling  was  good  and  Dave  watched  ii 
with  keen  interest.  One  huge  bull-neckec 
fellow  was  easily  the  winner,  but  when  th< 
silver  buckles  were  in  his  hand,  he  boastfully 
challenged  anybody  in  the  crowd.  Dav< 


8o  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

shouldered  through  the  crowd  and  faced  the 
victor. 

"I'll  try  you  once,"  he  said,  and  a  shout  of 
approval  rose. 

The  Dale  party  crowded  close  and  my  lord's 
coach  appeared  on  the  outskirts  and  stopped. 

"Backholts  or  catch-as-catch-can  ?"  asked 
the  victor  sneeringly. 

"As  you  please,"  said  Dave. 

The  bully  rushed.  Dave  caught  him 
around  the  neck  with  his  left  arm,  his  right 
swinging  low,  the  bully  was  lifted  from  the 
ground,  crushed  against  Dave's  breast,  the 
wind  went  out  of  him  with  a  grunt,  and  Dave 
with  a  smile  began  swinging  him  to  and  fro 
as  though  he  were  putting  a  child  to  sleep. 
The  spectators  yelled  their  laughter  and  the 
bully  roared  like  a  bull.  Then  Dave  reached 
around  with  his  left  hand,  caught  the  bully's 
left  wrist,  pulled  loose  his  hold,  and  with  a 
leftward  twist  of  his  own  body  tossed  his  an- 
tagonist some  several  feet  away.  The  bully 
turned  once  in  the  air  and  lighted  resound- 
ingly on  his  back.  He  got  up  dazed  and  sullen, 
but  breaking  into  a  good-natured  laugh,  shook 
his  head  and  held  forth  the  buckles  to  Dave. 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  81 

"You  won  'em,"  Dave  said.  "They're 
yours.  I  wasn't  wrastling  for  them.  You 
challenged.  We'll  shake  hands." 

Then  my  Lord  Dunmore  sent  for  Dave 
and  asked  him  where  he  was  from. 

"And  do  you  know  the  Indian  country  on 
this  side  of  the  Cumberland  ?"  asked  his  lord- 
ship. 

"Very  well." 

His  lordship  smiled  thoughtfully. 

"I  may  have  need  of  you." 

Dave  bowed: 

"I  am  an  American,  my  lord." 

His  lordship  flamed,  but  he  controlled  him- 
self. 

"You  are  at  least  an  open  enemy,"  he 
said,  and  gave  orders  to  move  on. 

The  horse-race  was  now  on,  and  meanwhile 
a  pair  of  silk  stockings,  of  one  pistol's  value, 
was  yet  to  be  conferred.  Colonel  Dale  had 
given  Hugh  permission  to  ride  Firefly  in  the 
race,  but  when  he  saw  the  lad's  condition  he 
peremptorily  refused. 

"And  nobody  else  can  ride  him,"  he  said, 
with  much  disappointment. 

"Let  me  try!"  cried  Erskine. 


82  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"  You  ! "  Colonel  Dale  started  to  laugh,  but 
he  caught  Dave's  eye. 

"Surely,"  said  Dave.  The  colonel  hesi- 
tated. 

"Very  well— I  will." 

At  once  the  three  went  to  the  horse,  and 
the  negro  groom  rolled  his  eyes  when  he 
learned  what  his  purpose  was. 

"Dis  hoss'll  kill  dat  boy,"  he  muttered, 
but  the  horse  had  already  submitted  '  is 
haughty  head  to  the  lad's  hand  and  was 
standing  quietly.  Even  Colonel  Dale  showed 
amazement  and  concern  when  the  boy  in- 
sisted that  the  saddle  be  taken  off,  as  he 
wanted  to  ride  bareback,  and  again  Dave  over- 
came his  scruples  with  a  word  of  full  confi- 
dence. The  boy  had  been  riding  pony-races 
bareback,  he  explained,  among  the  Indians, 
as  long  as  he  had  been  able  to  sit  a  horse. 
The  astonishment  of  the  crowd  when  they 
saw  Colonel  Dale's  favorite  horse  enter  the 
course  with  a  young  Indian  apparently  on 
him  bareback  will  have  to  be  imagined,  but 
when  they  recognized  the  rider  as  the  lad 
who  had  won  the  race,  the  betting  through 
psychological  perversity  was  stronger  than 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  83 

ever  on  Firefly.  Hugh  even  took  an  addi- 
tional bet  with  his  friend  Grey,  who  was  quite 
openly  scornful. 

"You  bet  on  the  horse  now,"  he  said. 

"On  both,"  said  Hugh. 

It  was  a  pretty  and  a  close  race  between 
Firefly  and  a  white-starred  bay  mare,  and 
they  came  down  the  course  neck  and  neck 
like  two  whirlwinds.  A  war-whoop  so  Indian- 
like  and  curdling  that  it  startled  every  old 
frontiersman  who  heard  it  came  suddenly 
from  one  of  the  riders.  Then  Firefly  stretched 
ahead  inch  by  inch,  and  another  triumphant 
savage  yell  heralded  victory  as  the  black 
horse  swept  over  the  line  a  length  ahead. 
Dane  Grey  swore  quite  fearfully,  for  it  was  a 
bet  that  he  could  ill  afford  to  lose.  He  was 
talking  with  Barbara  when  the  boy  came  back 
to  the  Dales,  and  something  he  was  saying 
made  the  girl  color  resentfully,  and  the  lad 
heard  her  say  sharply: 

"He  is  my  cousin,"  and  she  turned  away 
from  the  young  gallant  and  gave  the  youthful 
winner  a  glad  smile.  Just  then  a  group  of 
four  men  stopped  near,  looked  closely  at  the 
little  girl,  and  held  a  short  consultation.  One 


84  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

of  them  came  forward  with  a  pair  of  silk 
stockings  in  his  hand. 

"These  are  for  the  loveliest  maiden  present 
here.  The  committee  chooses  you/' 

And  later  he  reported  to  his  fellow  mem- 
bers : 

"It  was  like  a  red  rose  courtesying  and 
breathing  thanks." 

Again  Hugh  and  Dane  Grey  were  missing 
when  the  party  started  back  to  the  town — 
they  were  gone  to  bet  on  "  Bacon's  Thunder- 
bolts" in  a  cock-fight.  That  night  they  still 
were  missing  when  the  party  went  to  see  the 
Virginia  Comedians  in  a  play  by  one  Mr. 
Congreve — they  were  gaming  that  night — 
and  next  morning  when  the  Kentucky  lad 
rose,  he  and  Dave  through  his  window  saw 
the  two  young  roisterers  approaching  the 
porch  of  the  hotel — much  dishevelled  and  all 
but  staggering  with  drink. 

"I  don't  like  that  young  man,"  said  Dave, 
"and  he  has  a  bad  influence  on  Hugh." 

That  morning  news  came  from  New  Eng- 
land that  set  the  town  a-quiver.  England's 
answer  to  the  Boston  tea-party  had  been  the 
closing  of  Boston  harbor.  In  the  House  of 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

Burgesses,  the  news  was  met  with  a  bui 
of  indignation.  The  ist  of  June  was  straigl 
way  set  apart  as  a  day  of  fasting,  humiliatic 
and  prayer  that  God  would  avert  the  calami 
threatening  the  civil  rights  of  America, 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon  my  lord's  coa 
and  six  white  horses  swung  from  his  gre 
yard  and  made  for  the  capitol — my  lo 
sitting  erect  and  haughty,  his  lips  set  wi 
the  resolution  to  crush  the  spirit  of  the  ] 
bellion.  It  must  have  been  a  notable  scei 
for  Nicholas,  Bland,  Lee,  Harrison,  Pend 
ton,  Henry,  and  Jefferson,  and  perhaps  Was 
ington,  were  there.  And  my  lord  was  i 
from  popular.  He  had  hitherto  girded  hii 
self  with  all  the  trappings  of  etiquette,  h 
a  court  herald  prescribe  rules  for  the  guidan 
of  Virginians  in  approaching  his  excellem 
had  entertained  little  and,  unlike  his  prec 
cessors,  made  no  effort  to  establish  cord 
relations  with  the  people  of  the  capit 
The  Burgesses  were  to  give  a  great  ball 
his  honor  that  very  night,  and  now  he  vs 
come  to  dissolve  them.  And  dissolve  th( 
he  did.  They  bowed  gravely  and  with 
protest.  Shaking  with  anger  my  lord  stalk 


86  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

to  his  coach  and  six  while  they  repaired  to  the 
Apollo  Room  to  prohibit  the  use  of  tea  and 
propose  a  general  congress  of  the  colonies. 
And  that  ball  came  to  pass.  Haughty  hosts 
received  their  haughty  guest  with  the  finest 
and  gravest  courtesy,  bent  low  over  my  lady's 
hand,  danced  with  her  daughters,  and  wrung 
from  my  lord's  reluctant  lips  the  one  grudging 
word  of  comment : 

"Gentlemen!" 

And  the  ladies  of  his  family  bobbed  their 
heads  sadly  in  Confirmation,  for  the  steel- 
like  barrier  between  them  was  so  palpable 
that  it  could  have  been  touched  that  night,  it 
seemed,  by  the  hand. 

The  two  backwoodsmen  had  been  dazzled 
by  the  brilliance  of  it  all,  for  the  boy  had  stood 
with  Barbara,  who  had  been  allowed  to  look 
on  for  a  while.  Again  my  lord  had  summoned 
Dave  to  him  and  asked  many  questions  about 
the  wilderness  beyond  the  Cumberland,  and 
he  even  had  the  boy  to  come  up  and  shake 
hands,  and  asked  him  where  he  had  learned 
to  ride  so  well.  He  lifted  his  eyebrows  when 
Dave  answered  for  him  and  murmured  with 
surprise  and  interest: 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  87 

"So-so!" 

Before  Barbara  was  sent  home  Hugh  and 
Dane  Grey,  dressed  with  great  care,  came  in, 
with  an  exaggeration  of  dignity  and  politeness 
that  fooled  few  others  than  themselves.  Hugh, 
catching  Barbara's  sad  and  reproachful  glance, 
did  not  dare  go  near  her,  but  Dane  made 
straight  for  her  side  when  he  entered  the  room 
— and  bowed  with  great  gallantry.  To  the 
boy  he  paid  no  attention  whatever,  and  the 
latter,  fired  with  indignation  and  hate,  turned 
hastily  away.  But  in  a  corner  unseen  he 
could  not  withhold  watching  the  two  closely, 
and  he  felt  vaguely  that  he  was  watching  a 
frightened  bird  and  a  snake.  The  little  girl's 
self-composure  seemed  quite  to  vanish,  her 
face  flushed,  her  eyes  were  downcast,  and  her 
whole  attitude  had  a  mature  embarrassment 
that  was  far  beyond  her  years.  The  lad  won- 
dered and  was  deeply  disturbed.  The  half 
overlooking  and  wholly  contemptuous  glance 
that  Grey  had  shot  over  his  head  had  stung 
him  like  a  knife-cut,  so  like  an  actual  knife 
indeed  that  without  knowing  it  his  right  hand 
was  then  fumbling  at  his  belt.  Dave  too  was 
noticing  and  so  was  Barbara's  mother  and  her 


88  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

father,  who  knew  very  well  that  this  smooth, 
suave,  bold,  young  daredevil  was  deliberately 
leading  Hugh  into  all  the  mischief  he  could 
find.  Nor  did  he  leave  the  girl's  side  until 
she  was  taken  home.  Erskine,  too,  left  then 
and  went  back  to  the  tavern  and  up  to  his 
room.  Then  with  his  knife  in  his  belt  he  went 
down  again  and  waited  on  the  porch.  Already 
guests  were  coming  back  from  the  party  and 
it  was  not  long  before  he  saw  Hugh  and  Dane 
Grey  half-stumbling  up  the  steps.  Erskine 
rose.  Grey  confronted  the  lad  dully  for  a 
moment  and  then  straightened. 

"Here's  anuzzer  one  wants  to  fight,"  he 
said  thickly.  "My  young  friend,  I  will 
oblige  you  anywhere  with  anything,  at  any 
time — except  to-night.  You  must  regard  zhat 
as  great  honor,  for  I  am  not  accustomed  to 
fight  with  savages." 

And  he  waved  the  boy  away  with  such 
an  insolent  gesture  that  the  lad,  knowing  no 
other  desire  with  an  enemy  than  to  kill  in  any 
way  possible,  snatched  his  knife  from  his  belt. 
He  heard  a  cry  of  surprise  and  horror  from 
Hugh  and  a  huge  hand  caught  his  upraised 
wrist. 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"Put  it  back !"  said  Dave  sternly. 
The  dazed  boy  obeyed  and  Dave  led  h: 
up-stairs. 


VIII 

DAVE  talked  to  the  lad  about  the  enormity 
of  his  offense,  but  to  Dave  he  was  inclined  to 
defend  himself  and  his  action.  Next  morning, 
however,  when  the  party  started  back  to 
Red  Oaks,  Erskine  felt  a  difference  in  the  at- 
mosphere that  made  him  uneasy.  Barbara 
alone  seemed  unchanged,  and  he  was  quick  to 
guess  that  she  had  not  been  told  of  the  inci- 
dent. Hugh  was  distinctly  distant  and  surly 
for  another  reason  as  well.  He  had  wanted 
to  ask  young  Grey  to  become  one  of  their 
party  and  his  father  had  decisively  forbidden 
him — for  another  reason  too  than  his  influence 
over  Hugh:  Grey  and  his  family  were  Tories 
and  in  high  favor  with  Lord  Dunmore. 

As  yet  Dave  had  made  no  explanation  or 
excuse  for  his  young  friend,  but  he  soon  made 
up  his  mind  that  it  would  be  wise  to  offer  the 
best  extenuation  as  soon  as  possible;  which 
was  simply  that  the  lad  knew  no  better,  had 
not  yet  had  the  chance  to  learn,  and  on  the 

rage  of  impulse  had  acted  just  as  he  would 

90 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  91 

have  done  among  the  Indians,  whose  code 
alone  he  knew. 

The  matter  came  to  a  head  shortly  after 
their  arrival  at  Red  Oaks  when  Colonel  Dale, 
Harry,  Hugh,  and  Dave  were  on  the  front 
porch.  The  boy  was  standing  behind  the 
box-hedge  near  the  steps  and  Barbara  had 
just  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"Well,  what  was  the  trouble  ?"  Colonel 
Dale  had  just  asked. 

"He  tried  to  stab  Grey  unarmed  and  with- 
out warning,"  said  Hugh  shortly. 

At  the  moment,  the  boy  caught  sight  of 
Barbara.  Her  eyes,  filled  with  scorn,  met  his 
in  one  long,  sad,  withering  look,  and  she  turned 
noiselessly  back  into  the  house.  Noiselessly 
too  he  melted  into  the  garden,  slipped  down 
to  the  river-bank,  and  dropped  to  the  ground. 
He  knew  at  last  what  he  had  done.  Nothing 
was  said  to  him  when  he  came  back  to  the 
house  and  that  night  he  scarcely  opened  his 
lips.  In  silence  he  went  to  bed  and  next 
morning  he  was  gone. 

The  mystery  was  explained  when  Barbara 
told  how  the  boy  too  must  have  overheard 
Hugh. 


92  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"He's  hurt,"  said  Dave,  "and  he's  gone 
home." 

"On  foot?"  asked  Colonel  Dale  incredu- 
lously. 

"He  can  trot  all  day  and  make  almost  as 
good  time  as  a  horse." 

"Why,  he'll  starve." 

Dave  laughed: 

"He  could  get  there  on  roots  and  herbs  and 
wild  honey,  but  he'll  have  fresh  meat  every 
day.  Still,  I'll  have  to  try  to  overtake  him. 
I  must  go,  anyhow." 

And  he  asked  for  his  horse  and  went  to 
get  ready  for  the  journey.  Ten  minutes  later 
Hugh  and  Harry  rushed  joyously  to  his  room. 

"We're  going  with  you!"  they  cried,  and 
Dave  was  greatly  pleased.  An  hour  later  all 
were  ready,  and  at  the  last  moment  Firefly 
was  led  in,  saddled  and  bridled,  and  with  a 
leading  halter  around  his  neck. 

"Harry,"  said  Colonel  Dale,  "carry  your 
cousin  my  apologies  and  give  him  Firefly  on 
condition  that  he  ride  him  back  some  day. 
Tell  him  this  home  is  his" — the  speaker 
halted,  but  went  on  gravely  and  firmly — 
"whenever  he  pleases." 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  93 

"And  give  him  my  love,"  said  Barbara, 
holding  back  her  tears. 

At  the  river-gate  they  turned  to  wave 
a  last  good-by  and  disappeared  in  the  woods. 
At  that  hour  the  boy  far  over  in  the  wilder- 
ness ahead  of  them  had  cooked  a  squirrel 
that  he  had  shot  for  his  breakfast  and  was 
gnawing  it  to  the  bones.  Soon  he  rose  and 
at  a  trot  sped  on  toward  his  home  beyond  the 
Cumberland.  And  with  him,  etched  with 
acid  on  the  steel  of  his  brain,  sped  two  images 
— Barbara's  face  as  he  last  saw  it  and  the  face 
of  young  Dane  Grey. 

The  boy's  tracks  were  easily  to  be  seen 
in  the  sandy  road,  and  from  them  Dave  judged 
that  he  must  have  left  long  before  daylight. 
And  he  was  travelling  rapidly.  They  too 
went  as  fast  as  they  could,  but  Firefly  led 
badly  and  delayed  them  a  good  deal.  No- 
body whom  they  questioned  had  laid  eyes  on 
the  boy,  and  apparently  he  had  been  slipping 
into  the  bushes  to  avoid  being  seen.  At  sun- 
set Dave  knew  that  they  were  not  far  behind 
him,  but  when  darkness  hid  the  lad's  tracks 
Dave  stopped  for  the  night.  Again  Erskine 
had  got  the  start  by  going  on  before  day,  and 


94  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

it  was  the  middle  of  the  forenoon  before  Dave, 
missing  the  tracks  for  a  hundred  yards, 
halted  and  turned  back  to  where  a  little 
stream  crossed  the  road  and  dismounted  lead- 
ing his  horse  and  scrutinizing  the  ground. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "just  what  I  expected. 
He  turned  off  here  to  make  a  bee-line  for  the 
fort.  He's  not  far  away  now."  An  hour 
later  he  dismounted  again  and  smiled:  "We're 
pretty  close  now." 

Meanwhile  Harry  and  Hugh  were  getting 
little  lessons  in  woodcraft.  Dave  pointed 
out  where  the  lad  had  broken  a  twig  climb- 
ing over  a  log,  where  the  loose  covering  of 
another  log  had  been  detached  when  he  leaped 
to  it,  and  where  he  had  entered  the  creek,  the 
toe  of  one  moccasin  pointing  down-stream. 

Then  Dave  laughed  aloud: 

"He's  seen  us  tracking  him  and  he's  doubled 
on  us  and  is  tracking  us.  I  expect  he's  look- 
ing at  us  from  somewhere  around  here." 
And  he  hallooed  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  which 
rang  down  the  forest  aisles.  A  war-whoop 
answered  almost  in  their  ears  that  made  the 
blood  leap  in  both  the  boys.  Even  Dave 
wheeled  with  cocked  rifle,  and  the  lad  stepped 


ERSKINE  DALE—PIONEER  95 

from  behind  a  bush  scarcely  ten  feet  behind 
them. 

"Well,  by  gum,"  shouted  Dave,  "fooled 
us,  after  all/* 

A  faint  grin  of  triumph  was  on  the  lad's 
lips,  but  in  his  eyes  was  a  waiting  inquiry 
directed  at  Harry  and  Hugh.  They  sprang 
forward,  both  of  them  with  their  hands  out- 
stretched : 

"We're  sorry!" 

A  few  minutes  later  Hugh  was  transferring 
his  saddle  from  Firefly  to  his  own  horse,  which 
had  gone  a  trifle  lame.  On  Firefly,  Harry 
buckled  the  boy's  saddle  and  motioned  for 
him  to  climb  up.  The  bewildered  lad  turned 
to  Dave,  who  laughed: 

"It's  all  right." 

"He's  your  horse,  cousin,"  said  Harry. 
"My  father  sent  him  to  you  and  says  his 
home  is  yours  whenever  you  please.  And 
Barbara  sent  her  love." 

At  almost  the  same  hour  in  the  great  house 
on  the  James  the  old  negress  was  carrying 
from  the  boy's  room  to  Colonel  Dale  in  the 
library  a  kingly  deed  that  the  lad  had  left 
behind  him.  It  was  a  rude  scrawl  on  a  sheet 


96  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

of  paper,  signed  by  the  boy's  Indian  name  and 
his  totem  mark — a  buffalo  pierced  by  an  ar- 
row. 

"It  make  me  laugh.  I  have  no  use.  I  give 
hole  dam  plantashun  Barbara." 

Thus  read  the  scrawl ! 


IX 

LED  by  Dave,  sometimes  by  the  boy,  the 
four  followed  the  course  of  rivers,  upward, 
always  except  when  they  descended  some 
mountain  which  they  had  to  cross,  and  then 
it  was  soon  upward  again.  The  two  Virginia 
lads  found  themselves,  much  to  their  chagrin, 
as  helpless  as  children,  but  they  were  apt 
pupils  and  soon  learned  to  make  a  fire  with 
flint  and  even  with  dry  sticks  of  wood.  On 
the  second  day  Harry  brought  down  a  buck, 
and  the  swiftness  and  skill  with  which  Dave 
and  the  Kentucky  boy  skinned  and  cleaned 
it  greatly  astonished  the  two  young  gentle- 
men from  the  James.  There  Erskine  had  been 
helpless,  here  these  two  were,  and  they  were 
as  modest  over  the  transposition  as  was  the 
Kentucky  lad  in  the  environment  he  had  just 
left.  Once  they  saw  a  herd  of  buffalo  and 
they  tied  their  horses  and  slipped  toward 
them.  In  his  excitement  Harry  fired  too 
soon  and  the  frightened  herd  thundered  to- 
ward them. 

97 


98  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"Climb  a  tree !"  shouted  Erskine  dropping 
his  rifle  and  skinning  up  a  young  hickory. 
Like  squirrels  they  obeyed  and  from  their 
perches  they  saw  Dave  in  an  open  space  ahead 
of  them  dart  for  a  tree  too  late. 

The  buffalo  were  making  straight  for  them 
through  no  purpose  but  to  get  away,  and  to 
their  horror  they  saw  the  big  hunter  squeezing 
his  huge  body  sidewise  against  a  small  tree  and 
the  herd  dashing  under  them  and  past  him. 
They  could  not  see  him  for  the  shaggy  bodies 
rushing  by,  but  when  they  passed,  there  was 
Dave  unhurt,  though  the  tree  on  both  sides 
of  him  had  been  skinned  of  its  bark  by  their 
horns. 

"Don't  do  that  again,"  said  Dave,  and  then 
seeing  the  crestfallen  terror  on  Harry's  face, 
he  smiled  and  patted  the  boy  on  the  shoulder: 

"You  won't  again.  You  didn't  know. 
You  will  next  time." 

Three  days  later  they  reached  the  broad, 
beautiful  Holston  River,  passing  over  the 
pine-crested,  white-rocked  summit  of  Clinch 
Mountain,  and  came  to  the  last  outlying  fort 
of  the  western  frontier.  Next  day  they 
started  on  the  long,  long  wilderness  trail 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  99 

toward  the  Cumberland  range.  In  the  low- 
land they  found  much  holly  and  laurel  and 
rhododendron.  Over  Wallen's  Ridge  they 
followed  a  buffalo  trail  to  a  river  that  had 
been  called  Beargrass  because  it  was  fringed 
with  spikes  of  white  umbelliferous  flowers 
four  feet  high  that  were  laden  with  honey  and 
beloved  by  Bruin  of  the  sweet  tooth.  The 
land  was  level  down  the  valley.  On  the 
third  day  therefrom  the  gray  wall  of  the  Cum- 
berland that  ran  with  frowning  inaccessibility 
on  their  right  gathered  its  flanks  into  steep 
gray  cliffs  and  dipped  suddenly  into  Cumber- 
land Gap.  Up  this  they  climbed.  On  the 
summit  they  went  into  camp,  and  next  morn- 
ing Dave  swept  a  long  arm  toward  the  wild 
expanse  to  the  west. 

"Four  more  days,'7  he  cried,  "and  we'll 
be  there !" 

The  two  boys  looked  with  awe  on  the  limit- 
less stretch  of  wooded  wilds.  It  was  still 
Virginia,  to  be  sure,  but  they  felt  that  once 
they  started  down  they  would  be  leaving 
their  own  beloved  State  for  a  strange  land  of 
unknown  beasts  and  red  men  who  peopled 
that  "dark  and  bloody  ground." 


ioo  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

Before  sunrise  next  morning  they  were 
dropping  down  the  steep  and  rocky  trail. 
Before  noon  they  reached  the  beautiful  Cum- 
berland River,  and  Dave  told  them  that,  be- 
low, it  ran  over  a  great  rocky  cliff,  tumbling 
into  foam  and  spray  over  mighty  boulders 
around  which  the  Indians  had  to  carry  their 
bark  canoes.  As  they  rode  along  the  bank 
of  the  stream  the  hills  got  lower  and  were 
densely  thicketed  with  laurel  and  rhododen- 
dron, and  impenetrable  masses  of  cane-brake 
filled  every  little  valley  curve.  That  night 
they  slept  amid  the  rocky  foot-hills  of  the 
range,  and  next  morning  looked  upon  a  vast 
wilderness  stretch  of  woods  that  undulated 
to  the  gentle  slopes  of  the  hills,  and  that  night 
they  were  on  the  edge  of  the  blue-grass  land. 

Toward  sunset  Dave,  through  a  sixth  sense, 
had  the  uneasy  feeling  that  he  was  not  only 
being  followed  but  watched  from  the  cliffs 
alongside,  and  he  observed  that  Erskine  too 
had  more  than  once  turned  in  his  saddle  or 
lifted  his  eyes  searchingly  to  the  shaggy  flanks 
of  the  hills.  Neither  spoke  to  the  other,  but 
that  night  when  the  hoot  of  an  owl  raised 
Dave  from  his  blanket,  Erskine  too  was  up- 


Tour  more  days,"  he  cried,  "and  we'll  be  there!" 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  101 

right  with  his  rifle  in  his  hand.  For  half  an 
hour  they  waited,  and  lay  down  again,  only 
to  be  awakened  again  by  the  snort  of  a  horse, 
when  both  sprang  to  their  feet  and  crawled 
out  toward  the  sound.  But  the  heavy  silence 
lay  unbroken  and  they  brought  the  horses 
closer  to  the  fire. 

"Now  I  know  it  was  Indians,"  said  Dave; 
"that  hoss  o'  mine  can  smell  one  further'n 
a  rattlesnake."  The  boy  nodded  and  they 
took  turns  on  watch  while  the  two  boys  slept 
on  till  daylight.  The  trail  was  broad  enough 
next  morning  for  them  to  ride  two  abreast — 
Dave  and  Erskine  in  advance.  They  had 
scarcely  gone  a  hundred  yards  when  an  In- 
dian stepped  into  the  path  twenty  yards 
ahead.  Instinctively  Dave  threw  his  rifle  up, 
but  Erskine  caught  his  arm.  The  Indian 
had  lifted  his  hand — palm  upward.  "Shaw- 
nee!"  said  the  lad,  as  two  more  appeared 
from  the  bushes.  The  eyes  of  the  two  tide- 
water boys  grew  large,  and  both  clinched 
their  guns  convulsively.  The  Indian  spokes- 
man paid  no  heed  except  to  Erskine — and 
only  from  the  lad's  face,  in  which  surprise  was 
succeeded  by  sorrow  and  then  deep  thought- 


102  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

fulness,  could  they  guess  what  the  guttural 
speech  meant,  until  Erskine  turned  to  them. 
They  were  not  on  the  war-path  against  the 
whites,  he  explained.  His  foster-father — 
Kahtoo,  the  big  chief,  the  king — was  very  ill, 
and  his  message,  brought  by  them,  was  that 
Erskine  should  come  back  to  the  tribe  and 
become  chief,  as  tjie  chiefs  only  daughter  was 
dead  and  his  only  son  had  been  killed  by  the 
palefaces.  They  knew  that  in  the  fight  at  the 
fort  Erskine  had  killed  the  Shawnee,  his  tor- 
mentor, for  they  knew  the  arrow,  which 
Erskine  had  not  had  time  to  withdraw.  The 
dead  Shawnee's  brother — Crooked  Lightning 
— was  with  them.  He  it  was  who  had  recog- 
nized the  boy  the  day  before,  and  they  had 
kept  him  from  killing  Erskine  from  the  bushes. 
At  that  moment  a  gigantic  savage  stepped 
from  the  brush.  The  boy's  frame  quivered, 
straightened,  grew  rigid,  but  he  met  the  malev- 
olent glare  turned  on  him  with  emotionless 
face  and  himself  quietly  began  to  speak  while 
Harry  and  Hugh  and  even  Dave  watched  him 
enthralled;  for  the  lad  was  Indian  now  and 
the  old  chiefs  mantle  was  about  his  shoulders. 
He  sat  his  horse  like  a  king  and  spoke  as  a 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  103 

king.  He  thanked  them  for  holding  back 
Crooked  Lightning's  evil  hand,  but — con- 
temptuously he  spat  toward  the  huge  savage 
— he  was  not  to  die  by  that  hand.  He  was 
a  paleface  and  the  Indians  had  slain  his  white 
mother.  He  had  forgiven  that,  for  he  loved 
the  old  chief  and  his  foster  mother  and  brother 
and  sister,  and  the  tribe  had  always  been  kind 
to  him.  Then  they  had  killed  his  white 
father  and  he  had  gone  to  visit  his  kindred 
by  the  big  waters,  and  now  he  loved  them. 
He  had  fled  from  the  Shawnees  because  of 
the  cruelty  of  Crooked  Lightning's  brother 
whom  he  had  slain.  But  if  the  Indians  were 
falling  into  evil  ways  and  following  evil  coun- 
sels, his  heart  was  sad. 

"I  will  come  when  the  leaves  fall,"  he  con- 
cluded, "but  Crooked  Lightning  must  pitch 
his  lodge  in  the  wilderness  and  be  an  outcast 
from  the  tribe  until  he  can  show  that  his 
heart  is  good."  And  then  with  am  imperi- 
ous gesture  he  waved  his  hand  toward  the 
west: 

"Now  go!" 

It  was  hard  even  for  Dave  to  realize  that 
the  lad,  to  all  purposes,  was  actually  then  the 


io4  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

chief  of  a  powerful  tribe,  and  even  he  was  a 
little  awed  by  the  instant  obedience  of  the 
savages,  who,  without  a  word,  melted  into  the 
bushes  and  disappeared.  Harry  wished  that 
Barbara  had  been  there  to  see,  and  Hugh  was 
open-mouthed  with  astonishment  and  wonder, 
and  Dave  recovered  himself  with  a  little 
chuckle  only  when  without  a  word  Erskine 
clucked  Firefly  forward,  quite  unconsciously 
taking  the  lead.  And  Dave  humored  him;  nor 
was  it  many  hours  before  the  lad  ceased  to  be 
chief,  although  he  did  not  wholly  become  him- 
self again  until  they  were  near  the  fort.  It  was 
nearing  sunset  and  from  a  little  hill  Dave 
pointed  to  a  thin  blue  wisp  of  smoke  rising 
far  ahead  from  the  green  expanse. 

"There  it  is,  boys !"  he  cried.  All  the 
horses  were  tired  except  Firefly  and  with  a 
whoop  Erskine  darted  forward  and  disap- 
peared. They  followed  as  fast  as  they  could 
and  they  heard  the  report  of  the  boy's  rifle 
and  the  series  of  war-whoops  with  which  he 
was  heralding  his  approach.  Nobody  in  the 
fort  was  fearful,  for  plainly  it  was  no  un- 
friendly coming.  All  were  gathered  at  the 
big  gate  and  there  were  many  yells  and  cries 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  105 

of  welcome  and  wonder  when  the  boy  swept 
into  the  clearing  on  a  run,  brandishing  his 
rifle  above  his  head,  and  pulled  his  fiery  black 
horse  up  in  front  of  them. 

"Whar'd  you  steal  that  hoss  ?"  shouted 
Bud. 

"Look  at  them  clothes!"  cried  Jack  San- 
ders. And  the  women — Mother  Sanders, 
Mother  Noe,  and  Lydia  and  Honor  and  Polly 
Conrad — gathered  about  him,  laughing,  wel- 
coming, shaking  hands,  and  asking  questions. 

"Where's  Dave  ?"  That  was  the  chief 
question  and  asked  by  several  voices  at  the 
same  time.  The  boy  looked  grave. 

"Dave  ain't  comin'  back,"  he  said,  and 
then  seeing  the  look  on  Lydia's  face,  he  smiled : 
"  Dave — "  He  had  no  further  to  go,  for  Dave's 
rifle  cracked  and  his  voice  rose  from  the  woods, 
and  he  and  Harry  and  Hugh  galloped  into  the 
clearing.  Then  were  there  more  whoopings 
and  greetings,  and  Lydia's  starting  tears 
turned  to  smiles. 

Healthy,  husky,  rude,  and  crude  these 
people  were,  but  hearty,  kind,  wholesome, 
and  hospitable  to  the  last  they  had.  Nat- 
urally the  young  people  and  the  two  boys 


io6  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

from  the  James  were  mutually  shy,  but  it  was 
plain  that  the  shyness  would  soon  wear  off. 
Before  dark  the  men  came  in:  old  Jerome  and 
the  Noe  brothers  and  others  who  were  stran- 
gers even  to  Dave,  for  in  his  absence  many 
adventurers  had  come  along  the  wilderness 
trail  and  were  arriving  all  the  time.  Already 
Erskine  and  Bud  had  shown  the  two  stranger 
boys  around  the  fort;  had  told  them  of  the 
last  fight  with  the  Indians,  and  pointed  out  the 
outer  walls  pockmarked  with  bullet-holes. 
Supper  was  in  the  open — the  women  serv- 
ing and  the  men  seated  about  on  buffalo- 
skins  and  deer-hides.  Several  times  Hugh 
or  Harry  would  spring  up  to  help  serve, 
until  Polly  turned  on  Hugh  sharply: 

"You  set  still!"  and  then  she  smiled  at 
him. 

"You'll  spile  us — but  I  know  a  lot  o' 
folks  that  might  learn  manners  from  you 
two  boys." 

Both  were  embarrassed.  Dave  laughed, 
Bud  Sanders  grunted,  and  Erskine  paid  no 
heed.  All  the  time  the  interchange  of  news 
and  experiences  was  going  on.  Dave  had 
to  tell  about  his  trip  and  Erskine's  races — 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  107 

for  the  lad  would  say  nothing — and  in  turn 
followed  stories  of  killing  buffalo,  deer,  pan- 
ther, and  wildcat  during  his  absence.  Early 
the  women  disappeared,  soon  the  men  began 
to  yawn  and  stretch,  and  the  sentinels  went 
to  the  watch-towers,  for  there  had  been  Indian 
signs  that  day.  This  news  thrilled  the  east- 
ern lads,  and  they  too  turned  into  the  same 
bed  built  out  from  the  wall  of  one  of  the  cabins 
and  covered  with  bearskins.  And  Harry, 
just  before  his  eyes  closed,  saw  through  the 
open  door  Erskine  seated  alone  by  the  dying 
fire  in  deep  thought — Erskine,  the  connecting- 
link  between  the  tide-water  aristocrats  and 
these  rude  pioneers,  between  these  backwoods- 
men and  the  savage  enemies  out  in  the  black 
encircling  wilderness.  And  that  boy's  brain 
was  in  a  turmoil — what  was  to  be  his  fate, 
there,  here,  or  out  there  where  he  had  prom- 
ised to  go  at  the  next  falling  of  the  leaves  ? 


X 

THE  green  of  the  wilderness  dulled  and  burst 
into  the  yellow  of  the  buckeye,  the  scarlet  of 
maple,  and  the  russet  of  oak.  This  glory  in 
turn  dulled  and  the  leaves,  like  petals  of  with- 
ered flowers,  began  to  drift  to  the  earth. 
Through  the  shower  of  them  went  Erskine 
and  Firefly,  who  had  become  as  used  to  the 
wilds  as  to  the  smiling  banks  of  the  far-away 
James,  for  no  longer  did  some  strange  scent 
make  his  nostrils  quiver  or  some  strange 
sound  point  his  beautiful  ears  and  make  him 
crouch  and  shudder,  or  some  shadow  or  shaft 
of  light  make  him  shy  and  leap  like  a  deer 
aside.  And  the  two  now  were  one  in  mutual 
affection  and  a  mutual  understanding  that 
was  uncanny.  A  brave  picture  the  lad  made 
of  those  lone  forerunners  whose  tent  was  the 
wilderness  and  whose  goal  was  the  Pacific 
slope.  From  his  coonskin  cap  the  bushy 
tail  hung  like  a  plume;  his  deerskin  hunting- 
shirt,  made  by  old  Mother  Sanders,  was 
beaded  and  fringed — fringed  across  the  breast, 

108 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  109 

at  the  wrists,  and  at  the  hem,  and  girded  by 
a  belt  from  which  the  horned  handle  of  a 
scalping-knife  showed  in  front  and  the  head 
of  a  tomahawk  behind;  his  powder-horn 
swung  under  one  shoulder  and  his  bullet- 
pouch,  wadding,  flint,  and  steel  under  the 
other;  his  long  rifle  across  his  saddle-bow. 
And  fringed  too  were  his  breeches  and  beaded 
were  his  moccasins.  Dave  had  laughed  at 
him  as  a  backwoods  dandy  and  then  checked 
himself,  so  dignified  was  the  boy  and  grave; 
he  was  the  son  of  a  king  again,  and  as  such  was 
on  his  way  in  answer  to  the  wish  of  a  king. 
For  food  he  carried  only  a  little  sack  of  salt, 
for  his  rifle  would  bring  him  meat  and  the 
forest  would  give  him  nuts  and  fruit.  When 
the  sun  was  nearing  its  highest,  he  "  barked " 
a  squirrel  from  the  trunk  of  a  beech;  toward 
sunset  a  fat  pheasant  fluttered  from  the 
ground  to  a  low  limb  and  he  shot  its  head  off 
and  camped  for  the  night.  Hickory-nuts, 
walnuts,  and  chestnuts  were  abundant.  Per- 
simmons and  papaws  were  ripe,  haws  and 
huckleberries  were  plentiful.  There  were  wild 
cherries  and  even  wild  plums,  and  when  he 
wished  he  could  pluck  a  handful  of  wild  grapes 


no  ERSKINE  DALE- PIONEER 

from  a  vine  by  the  trail  and  munch  them  as 
he  rode  along.  For  something  sweet  he  could 
go  to  the  pod  of  the  honey-locust. 

On  the  second  day  he  reached  the  broad 
buffalo  trail  that  led  to  the  salt-licks  and  on 
to  the  river,  and  then  memories  came.  He 
remembered  a  place  where  the  Indians  had 
camped  after  they  had  captured  himself  and 
his  mother.  In  his  mind  was  a  faint  picture 
of  her  sitting  against  a  tree  and  weeping  and 
of  an  Indian  striking  her  to  make  her  stop  and 
of  himself  leaping  at  the  savage  like  a  little 
wildcat,  whereat  th&  others  laughed  like 
children.  Farther  on,  next  day,  was  the  spot 
where  the  Indians  had  separated  them  and 
he  saw  his  mother  no  more.  They  told  him 
that  she  had  been  taken  back  to  the  whites, 
but  he  was  told  later  that  they  had  killed  her 
because  in  their  flight  from  the  whites  she  was 
holding  them  back  too  much.  Farther  on 
was  a  spot  where  they  had  hurried  from  the 
trail  and  thrust  him  into  a  hollow  log,  barring 
the  exit  with  stones,  and  had  left  him  for  a 
day  and  a  night. 

On  the  fourth  day  he  reached  the  river 
and  swam  it  holding  rifle  and  powder-horn 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  in 

above  his  head.  On  the  seventh  he  was  near- 
ing  the  village  where  the  sick  chief  lay,  and 
when  he  caught  sight  of  the  teepees  in  a  little 
creek  bottom,  he  fired  his  rifle,  and  putting 
Firefly  into  a  gallop  and  with  right  hand  high 
swept  into  the  village.  Several  bucks  had 
caught  up  bow  or  rifle  at  the  report  of  the  gun 
and  the  clatter  of  hoofs,  but  their  hands 
relaxed  when  they  saw  his  sign  of  peace. 
The  squaws  gathered  and  there  were  grunts 
of  recognition  and  greeting  when  the  boy 
pulled  up  in  their  midst.  The  flaps  of  the 
chiefs  tent  parted  and  his  foster-mother 
started  toward  him  with  a  sudden  stream  of 
tears  and  turned  quickly  back.  The  old 
chief's  keen  black  eyes  were  waiting  for  her 
and  he  spoke  before  she  could  open  her  lips : 

"White  Arrow!  It  is  well.  Here — at 
once!" 

Erskine  had  swung  from  his  horse  and  fol- 
lowed. The  old  chief  measured  him  from 
head  to  foot  slowly  and  his  face  grew  content : 

"Show  me  the  horse!" 

The  boy  threw  back  the  flaps  of  the  tent 
and  with  a  gesture  bade  an  Indian  to  lead 
Firefly  to  and  fro.  The  horse  even  thrust 


ii2  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

his  beautiful  head  over  his  master's  shoulder 
and  looked  within,  snorting  gently.  Kahtoo 
waved  dismissal: 

"You  must  ride  north  soon  to  carry  the 
white  wampum  and  a  peace  talk.  And  when 
you  go  you  must  hurry  back,  for  when  the 
sun  is  highest  on  the  day  after  you  return,  my 
spirit  will  pass." 

And  thereupon  he  turned  his  face  and  went 
back  into  sleep.  Already  his  foster-mother 
had  unsaddled  and  tethered  Firefly  and  given 
him  a  feed  of  corn;  and  yet  bucks,  squaws, 
girls,  and  pappooses  were  still  gathered 
around  him,  for  some  had  not  seen  his  like 
before,  and  of  the  rest  none  failed  to  feel  the 
change  that  had  taken  place  in  him.  Had 
the  lad  in  truth  come  to  win  and  make  good 
his  chieftainship,  he  could  not  have  made 
a  better  beginning,  and  there  was  not  a  maid 
in  camp  in  whose  eyes  there  was  not  far  more 
than  curiosity — young  as  he  was.  Just  be- 
fore sunset  rifle-shots  sounded  in  the  distance 
— the  hunters  were  coming  in — and  the  ac- 
companying whoops  meant  great  success. 
Each  of  three  bucks  carried  a  deer  over  his 
shoulders,  and  foremost  of  the  three  was 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  113 

Crooked  Lightning,  who  barely  paused  when 
he  saw  Erskine,  and  then  with  an  insolent 
glare  and  grunt  passed  him  and  tossed  his 
deer  at  the  feet  of  the  squaws.  The  boy's 
hand  slipped  toward  the  handle  of  his  toma- 
hawk, but  some  swift  instinct  kept  him  still. 
The  savage  must  have  had  good  reason  for 
such  open  defiance,  for  the  lad  began  to  feel 
that  many  others  shared  in  his  hostility  and 
he  began  to  wonder  and  speculate. 

Quickly  the  feast  was  prepared  and  the 
boy  ate  apart — his  foster-mother  bringing 
him  food — but  he  could  hear  the  story  of  the 
day's  hunting  and  the  allusions  to  the  prowess 
of  Crooked  Lightning's  son,  Black  Wolf,  who 
was  Erskine's  age,  and  he  knew  they  were 
but  slurs  against  himself.  When  the  dance 
began  his  mother  pointed  toward  it,  meaning 
that  he  should  take  part,  but  he  shook  his 
head — and  his  thoughts  went  backward  to 
his  friends  at  the  fort  and  on  back  to  the  big 
house  on  the  James,  to  Harry  and  Hugh — and 
Barbara;  and  he  wondered  what  they  would 
think  if  they  could  see  him  there;  could  see 
the  gluttonous  feast  and  those  naked  savages 
stamping  around  the  fire  with  barbaric  grunts 


ii4  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

and  cries  to  the  thumping  of  a  drum.  Where 
did  he  belong  ? 

Fresh  wood  was  thrown  on  the  fire,  and  as 
its  light  leaped  upward  the  lad  saw  an  aged 
Indian  emerge  from  one  of  two  tents  that 
sat  apart  on  a  little  rise — saw  him  lift  both 
hands  toward  the  stars  for  a  moment  and  then 
return  within. 

"Who  is  that  ?"  he  asked. 

"The  new  prophet,"  said  his  mother. 
"He  has  been  but  one  moon  here  and  has 
much  power  over  our  young  men." 

An  armful  of  pine  fagots  was  tossed  on 
the  blaze,  and  in  a  whiter  leap  of  light  he  saw 
the  face  of  a  woman  at  the  other  tent — saw 
her  face  and  for  a  moment  met  her  eyes  be- 
fore she  shrank  back — and  neither  face  nor 
eyes  belonged  to  an  Indian.  Startled,  he 
caught  his  mother  by  the  wrist  and  all  but 
cried  out : 

"And  that  ?"  The  old  woman  hesitated 
and  scowled: 

"A  paleface.  Kahtoo  bought  her  and 
adopted  her  but" — the  old  woman  gave  a 
little  guttural  cluck  of  triumph — "she  dies 
to-morrow.  Kahtoo  will  burn  her." 

"Burn  her?"  burst  out  the  boy. 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  115 

"The  palefaces  have  killed  many  of  Kah- 
too'skin!" 

A  little  later  when  he  was  passing  near  the 
white  woman's  tent  a  girl  sat  in  front  of  it 
pounding  corn  in  a  mortar.  She  looked  up 
at  him  and,  staring,  smiled.  She  had  the  skin 
of  the  half-breed,  and  he  stopped,  startled  by 
that  fact  and  her  beauty — and  went  quickly 
on.  At  old  Kahtoo's  lodge  he  could  not 
help  turning  to  look  at  her  again,  and  this 
time  she  rose  quickly  and  slipped  within  the 
tent.  He  turned  to  find  his  foster-mother 
watching  him. 

"Who  is  .that  girl  ?"  The  old  woman 
looked  displeased. 

"Daughter  of  the  white  woman." 

"Does  she  know?" 

"Neither  knows." 

"What  is  her  name?" 

"Early  Morn." 

Early  Morn  and  daughter  of  the  white 
woman — he  would  like  to  know  more  of  those 
two,  and  he  half  turned,  but  the  old  Indian 
woman  caught  him  by  the  arm: 

"Do  not  go  there — you  will  only  make 
more  trouble." 


Ii6  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

He  followed  the  flash  of  her  eyes  to  the 
edge  of  the  firelight  where  a  young  Indian 
stood  watching  and  scowling: 

"Who  is  that?" 

"Black  Wolf,  son  of  Crooked  Lightning." 
.  "Ah!"  thought  Erskine. 

Within  the  old  chief  called  faintly  and  the 
Indian  woman  motioned  the  lad  to  go  within. 
The  old  man's  dim  eyes  had  a  new  fire. 

"Talk!"  he  commanded  and  motioned  to 
the  ground,  but  the  lad  did  not  squat  Indian 
fashion,  but  stood  straight  with  arms  folded, 
and  the  chief  knew  that  a  conflict  was  coming. 
Narrowly  he  watched  White  Arrow's  face 
and  bearing — uneasily  felt  the  strange  new 
power  of  him. 

"I  have  been  with  my  own  people,"  said 
the  lad  simply,  "the  palefaces  who  have  come 
over  the  big  mountains  and  have  built  forts 
and  planted  corn,  and  they  were  kind  to  me. 
I  went  over  those  mountains,  on  and  on  almost 
to  the  big  waters.  I  found  my  kin.  They 
are  many  and  strong  and  rich.  They  have 
big  houses  of  stone  such  as  I  had  never  seen 
nor  heard  of  and  they  plant  more  corn  than 
all  the  Shawnees  and  Iroquois.  They,  too, 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  117 

were  kind  to  me.  I  came  because  you  had 
been  kind  and  because  you  were  sick  and  be- 
cause you  had  sent  for  me,  and  to  keep  my 
word. 

"I  have  seen  Crooked  Lightning.  His 
heart  is  bad.  I  have  seen  the  new  prophet. 
I  do  not  like  him.  And  I  have  seen  the  white 
woman  that  you  are  to  burn  to-morrow." 
The  lad  stopped.  His  every  word  had  been 
of  defense  or  indictment  and  more  than  once 
the  old  chief's  eyes  shifted  uneasily. 

"Why  did  you  leave  us  ?w 

"To  see  my  people  and  because  of  Crooked 
Lightning  and  his  brother." 

"You  fought  us." 

"Only  the  brother,  and  I  killed  him." 
The  dauntless  mien  of  the  boy,  his  steady 
eyes,  and  his  bold  truthfulness,  pleased  the 
old  man.  The  lad  must  take  his  place  as 
chief.  Now  White  Arrow  turned  questioner: 

"I  told  you  I  would  come  when  the  leaves 
fell  and  I  am  here.  Why  is  Crooked  Light- 
ning here  ?  Why  is  the  new  prophet  ?  Who 
is  the  woman  ?  What  has  she  done  that  she 
must  die  ?  What  is  the  peace  talk  you  wish 
me  to  carry  north  ?" 


ii8  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

The  old  man  hesitated  long  with  closed 
eyes.  When  he  opened  them  the  fire  was 
gone  and  they  were  dim  again. 

"The  story  of  the  prophet  and  Crooked 
Lightning  is  too  long,"  he  said  wearily.  "I 
will  tell  to-morrow.  The  woman  must  die 
because  her  people  have  slain  mine.  Be- 
sides, she  is  growing  blind  and  is  a  trouble. 
You  carry  the  white  wampum  to  a  council. 
The  Shawnees  may  join  the  British  against 
our  enemies — the  palefaces." 

"I  will  wait,"  said  the  lad.  "I  will  carry 
the  white  wampum.  If  you  war  against  the 
paleface  on  this  side  of  the  mountain — I  am 
your  enemy.  If  you  war  with  the  British 
against  them  all — I  am  your  enemy.  And 
the  woman  must  not  die." 

"I  have  spoken,"  said  the  old  man. 

"/  have  spoken,"  said  the  boy.  He  turned 
to  lie  down  and  went  to  sleep.  The  old  man 
sat  on,  staring  out  at  the  stars. 

Just  outside  the  tent  a  figure  slipped  away 
as  noiselessly  as  a  snake.  When  it  rose  and 
emerged  from  the  shadows  the  firelight  showed 
the  malignant,  triumphant  face  of  Crooked 
Lightning. 


XI 

THE  Indian  boys  were  plunging  into  the 
river  when  Erskine  appeared  at  the  opening 
of  the  old  chief's  tent  next  morning,  and  when 
they  came  out  icicles  were  clinging  to  their 
hair.  He  had  forgotten  the  custom  and 
he  shrugged  his  shoulders  at  his  mother's 
inquiring  look.  But  the  next  morning  when 
Crooked  Lightning's  son  Black  Wolf  passed 
him  with  a  taunting  smile  he  changed  his 
mind. 

"Wait!"  he  said.  He  turned,  stripped 
quickly  to  a  breech-clout,  pointed  to  a  beech 
down,  and  across  the  river,  challenging  Black 
Wolf  to  a  race.  Together  they  plunged  in  and 
the  boy's  white  body  clove  through  the  water 
like  the  arrow  that  he  was.  At  the  beech  he 
whipped  about  to  meet  the  angry  face  of  his 
competitor  ten  yards  behind.  Half-way  back 
he  was  more  than  twenty  yards  ahead  when 
he  heard  a  strangled  cry.  Perhaps  it  was  a 

ruse  to  cover  the  humiliation  of  defeat,  but 

119 


120  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

when  he  saw  bucks  rushing  for  the  river-bank 
he  knew  that  the  icy  water  had  brought  a 
cramp  to  Black  Wolf,  so  he  turned,  caught  the 
lad  by  his  topknot,  towed  him  shoreward, 
dropped  him  contemptuously,  and  stalked 
back  to  his  tent.  The  girl  Early  Morn  stood 
smiling  at  her  lodge  and  her  eyes  followed  his 
white  figure  until  it  disappeared.  His  mother 
had  built  a  fire  for  him,  and  the  old  chief 
looked  pleased  and  proud. 

"My  spirit  shall  not  pass,"  he  said,  and 
straightway  he  rose  and  dressed,  and  to  the 
astonishment  of  the  tribe  emerged  from  his 
tent  and  walked  firmly  about  the  village  until 
he  found  Crooked  Lightning. 

"You  would  have  Black  Wolf  chief,"  he 
said.  "Very  well.  We  shall  see  who  can 
show  the  better  right — your  son  or  White 
Arrow" — a  challenge  that  sent  Crooked  Light- 
ning to  brood  awhile  in  his  tent,  and  then 
secretly  to  consult  the  prophet. 

Later  the  old  chief  talked  long  to  White 
Arrow.  The  prophet,  he  said,  had  been  with 
them  but  a  little  while.  He  claimed  that  the 
Great  Spirit  had  made  revelations  to  him 
alone.  What  manner  of  man  was  he,  ques- 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  121 

tioned  the  boy — did  he  have  ponies  and  pelts 
and  jerked  meat  ? 

"He  is  poor,"  said  the  chief.  "He  has 
only  a  wife  and  children  and  the  tribe  feeds 
him." 

White  Arrow  himself  grunted — it  was  the 
first  sign  of  his  old  life  stirring  within  him. 

"Why  should  the  Great  Spirit  pick  out 
such  a  man  to  favor  ?"  he  asked.  The  chief 
shook  his  head. 

"  He  makes  muzzi-neen  for  the  young  men, 
shows  them  where  to  find  game  and  they 
find  it." 

"But  game  is  plentiful,"  persisted  the  lad. 

"You  will  hear  him  drumming  in  the  woods 
at  night." 

"I  heard  him  last  night  and  I  thought  he 
was  a  fool  to  frighten  the  game  away." 

"Crooked  Lightning  has  found  much  favor 
with  him,  and  in  turn  with  the  others,  so  that 
I  have  not  thought  it  wise  to  tell  Crooked 
Lightning  that  he  must  go.  He  has  stirred 
up  the  young  men  against  me — and  against 
you.  They  were  waiting  for  me  to  die." 
The  boy  looked  thoughtful  and  the  chief 
waited.  He  had  not  reached  the  aim  of  his 


122  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

speech  and  there  was  no  need  to  put  it  in 
words,  for  White  Arrow  understood. 

"I  will  show  them,"  he  said  quietly. 

When  the  two  appeared  outside,  many 
braves  had  gathered,  for  the  whole  village 
knew  what  was  in  the  wind.  Should  it  be 
a  horse-race  first  ?  Crooked  Lightning  looked 
at  the  boy's  thoroughbred  and  shook  his  head 
— Indian  ponies  would  as  well  try  to  outrun 
an  arrow,  a  bullet,  a  hurricane. 

A  foot-race  ?  The  old  chief  smiled  when 
Crooked  Lightning  shook  his  head  again — 
no  brave  in  the  tribe  even  could  match  the 
speed  that  gave  the  lad  his  name.  The  bow 
and  arrow,  the  rifle,  the  tomahawk?  Per- 
haps the  pole-dance  of  the  Sioux  ?  The  last 
suggestion  seemed  to  make  Crooked  Light- 
ning angry,  for  a  rumor  was  that  Crooked 
Lightning  was  a  renegade  Sioux  and  had  been 
shamed  from  the  tribe  because  of  his  evasion 
of  that  same  pole-dance.  Old  Kahtoo  had 
humor  as  well  as  sarcasm.  Tomahawks  and 
bows  and  arrows  were  brought  out.  Black 
Wolf  was  half  a  head  shorter,  but  stocky  and 
powerfully  built.  White  Arrow's  sinews  had 
strengthened,  but  he  had  scarcely  used  bow 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  123 

and  tomahawk  since  he  had  left  the  tribe. 
His  tomahawk  whistled  more  swiftly  through 
the  air  and  buried  itself  deeper  into  the  tree, 
and  his  arrows  flashed  faster  and  were 
harder  to  pull  out.  He  had  the  power  but 
not  the  practice,  and  Black  Wolf  won  with 
great  ease.  When  they  came  to  the  rifle, 
Black  Wolf  was  out  of  the  game,  for  never 
a  bull's-eye  did  White  Arrow  miss. 

"To-morrow,"  said  the  old  chief,  "they 
shall  hunt.  Each  shall  take  his  bow  and  the 
same  number  of  arrows  at  sunrise  and  re- 
turn at  sundown.  .  .  .  The  next  day  they 
shall  do  the  same  with  the  rifle.  It  is  enough 
for  to-day." 

The  first  snow  fell  that  night,  and  at  dawn 
the  two  lads  started  out — each  with  a  bow 
and  a  dozen  arrows.  Erskine's  woodcraft 
had  not  suffered  and  the  night's  story  of  the 
wilderness  was  as  plain  to  his  keen  eyes  as  a 
printed  page.  Nothing  escaped  them,  no 
matter  how  minute  the  signs.  Across  the 
patch  where  corn  had  been  planted,  field-mice 
had  left  tracks  like  stitched  seams.  Crows 
had  been  after  crawfish  along  the  edge  of  the 
stream  and  a  mink  after  minnows.  A  musk- 


i24  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

rat  had  crossed  the  swamp  beyond.  In  the 
woods,  wind-blown  leaves  had  dotted  and 
dashed  the  snow  like  a  stenographer's  note- 
book. Here  a  squirrel  had  leaped  along,  his 
tail  showing  occasionally  in  the  snow,  and 
there  was  the  four-pointed,  triangle-track  of 
a  cottontail.  The  wide-spreading  toes  of  a 
coon  had  made  this  tracery;  moles  had  made 
these  snowy  ridges  over  their  galleries,  and 
this  long  line  of  stitched  tracks  was  the  trail 
of  the  fearless  skunk  which  came  to  a  sudden 
end  in  fur,  feathers,  and  bones  where  the 
great  horned  owl  had  swooped  down  on  him, 
the  only  creature  that  seems  not  to  mind  his 
smell.  Here  was  the  print  of  a  pheasant's 
wing,  and  buds  and  bits  of  twigs  on  the  snow 
were  the  scattered  remnants  of  his  breakfast. 
Here  was  the  spring  hole  that  never  freezes — 
the  drinking-cup  for  the  little  folks  of  the 
woods.  Here  a  hawk  had  been  after  a  rab- 
bit, and  the  lengthening  distance  between  his 
triangles  showed  how  he  had  speeded  up  in 
flight.  He  had  scudded  under  thick  briers  and 
probably  had  gotten  away.  But  where  was  the 
big  game  ?  For  two  hours  he  tramped  swiftly, 
but  never  sign  of  deer,  elk,  bear,  or  buffalo. 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  125 

And  then  an  hour  later  he  heard  a  snort 
from  a  thick  copse  and  the  crash  of  an  un- 
seen body  in  flight  through  the  brush,  and  he 
loped  after  its  tracks. 

Black  Wolf  came  in  at  sunset  with  a  bear 
cub  which  he  had  found  feeding  apart  from 
its  mother.  He  was  triumphant,  and  Crooked 
Lightning  was  scornful  when  White  Arrow 
appeared  empty-handed.  His  left  wrist  was 
bruised  and  swollen,  and  there  was  a  gash  the 
length  of  his  forearm. 

"Follow  my  tracks  back,"  he  said,  "until 
you  come  to  the  kill."  With  a  whoop  two 
Indians  bounded  away  and  in  an  hour  returned 
with  a  buck. 

"I  ran  him  down,"  said  White  Arrow, 
"and  killed  him  with  the  knife.  He  horned 
me,"  and  went  into  his  tent. 

The  bruised  wrist  and  wounded  forearm 
made  no  matter,  for  the  rifle  was  the  weapon 
next  day — but  White  Arrow  went  another 
way  to  look  for  game.  Each  had  twelve 
bullets.  Black  Wolf  came  in  with  a  deer  and 
one  bullet.  White  Arrow  told  them  where 
they  could  find  a  deer,  a  bear,  a  buffalo,  and 
an  elk,  and  he  showed  eight  bullets  in  the 


126  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

palm  of  his  hand.  And  he  noted  now  that 
the  Indian  girl  was  always  an  intent  observer 
of  each  contest,  and  that  she  always  went 
swiftly  back  to  her  tent  to  tell  his  deeds  to 
,  the  white  woman  within. 

There  was  a  feast  and  a  dance  that  night, 
and  Kahtoo  could  have  gone  to  his  fathers  and 
left  the  lad,  young  as  he  was,  as  chief,  but  not 
yet  was  he  ready,  mid  Crooked  Lightning, 
too,  bided  his  time. 


XII 

DRESSED  as  an  Indian,  Erskine  rode  forth 
next  morning  with  a  wampum  belt  and  a  talk 
for  the  council  north  where  the  British  were 
to  meet  Shawnee,  Iroquois,  and  Algonquin, 
and  urge  them  to  enter  the  great  war  that 
was  just  breaking  forth.  There  was  open 
and  angry  protest  against  sending  so  young  a 
lad  on  so  great  a  mission,  but  the  old  chief 
haughtily  brushed  it  aside: 

"He  is  young  but  his  feet  are  swift,  his 
arm  is  strong,  his  heart  good,  and  his  head 
is  old.  He  speaks  the  tongue  of  the  pale- 
face. Besides,  he  is  my  son." 

One  question  the  boy  asked  as  he  made 
ready: 

"The  white  woman  must  not  be  burned 
while  I  am  gone  ?" 

"No,"  promised  the  old  chief.  And  so 
White  Arrow  fared  forth.  Four  days  he 
rode  through  the  north  woods,  and  on  the 

fifth  he  strode  through  the  streets  of  a  town 

127 


128  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

that  was  yet  filled  with  great  forest  trees:  a 
town  at  which  he  had  spent  three  winters 
when  the  game  was  scarce  and  the  tribe  had 
moved  north  for  good.  He  lodged  with  no 
chief  but  slept  in  the  woods  with  his  feet  to 
the  fire.  The  next  night  he  slipped  to  the 
house  of  the  old  priest,  Father  Andre,  who  had 
taught  him  some  religion  and  a  little  French, 
and  the  old  man  welcomed  him  as  a  son, 
though  he  noted  sadly  his  Indian  dress  and 
was  distressed  when  he  heard  the  lad's  mis- 
sion. He  was  quickly  relieved. 

"  I  am  no  royalist,"  he  said. 

"Nor  am  I,"  said  Erskine.  "I  came  be- 
cause Kahtoo,  who  seemed  nigh  to  death, 
begged  me  to  come.  There  is  much  intrigue 
about  him,  and  he  could  trust  no  other.  I 
am  only  a  messenger  and  I  shall  speak  his 
talk;  but  my  heart  is  with  the  Americans 
and  I  shall  fight  with  them."  The  old  priest 
put  his  fingers  to  his  lips: 

"  Sh — h — h !  It  is  not  wise.  Are  you  not 
known  ?" 

Erskine  hesitated. 

Earlier  that  morning  he  had  seen  three 
officers  riding  in.  Following  was  a  youth 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  129 

not  in  uniform  though  he  carried  a  sword. 
On  the  contrary,  he  was  dressed  like  an  Eng- 
lish dandy,  and  then  he  found  himself  face 
to  face  with  Dane  Grey.  With  no  sign  of 
recognition  the  boy  had  met  his  eyec  squarely 
and  passed  on. 

"There  is  but  one  man  who  does  know 
me  and  he  did  not  recognize  me.  His  name 
is  Dane  Grey.  I  am  wondering  what  he  is 
doing  here.  Can  you  find  out  for  me  and  let 
me  know?"  The  old  priest  nodded  and  Er- 
skine  slipped  back  to  the  woods. 

At  sunrise  the  great  council  began.  On  his 
way  Erskine  met  Grey,  who  apparently  was 
leaving  with  a  band  of  traders  for  Detroit. 
Again  Erskine  met  his  eyes  and  this  time  Grey 
smiled: 

"Aren't  you  White  Arrow  ?"  Somehow 
the  tone  with  which  he  spoke  the  name  was  an 
insult. 

"Yes." 

"Then  it's  true.  We  heard  that  you  had 
left  your  friends  at  the  fort  and  become  an 
Indian  again." 

"Yes  ?" 

"So  you  are  not  only  going  to  fight  with 


i3o  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

the  Indians  against  the  whites,  but  with  the 
British  against  America  ?" 

"What  I  am  going  to  do  is  no  business  of 
yours,"  Erskine  said  quietly,  "but  I  hope  we 
shall  not  be  on  the  same  side.  We  may  meet 
again." 

Grey's  face  was  already  red  with  drink  and 
it  turned  purple  with  anger. 

"When  you  tried  to  stab  me  do  you  re- 
member what  I  said  ?"  Erskine  nodded  con- 
temptuously. 

"Well,  I  repeat  it.  Whatever  the  side, 
I'll  fight  you  anywhere  at  any  time  and  in  any 
way  you  please." 

"Why  not  now?" 

"This  is  not  the  time  for  private  quarrels 
and  you  know  it." 

Erskine  bowed  slightly — an  act  that  came 
oddly  from  an  Indian  head-dress. 

"I  can  wait — and  I  shall  not  forget.  The 
day  will  come." 

The  old  priest  touched  Erskine's  shoulder 
as  the  angry  youth  rode  away. 

"I  cannot  make  it  out,"  he  said.  "He 
claims  to  represent  an  English  fur  company. 
His  talk  is  British  but  he  told  one  man — last 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  131 

night  when  he  was  drunk — that  he  could  have 
a  commission  in  the  American  army. " 

The  council-fire  was  built,  the  flames 
crackled  and  the  smoke  rolled  upward  and 
swept  through  the  leafless  trees.  Three  Brit- 
ish agents  sat  on  blankets  and  around  them 
the  chiefs  were  ringed.  All  day  the  powwow 
lasted.  Each  agent  spoke  and  the  burden  of 
his  talk  varied  very  little. 

The  American  palefaces  had  driven  the 
Indian  over  the  great  wall.  They  were  kill- 
ing his  deer,  buffalo,  and  elk,  robbing  him  of 
his  land  and  pushing  him  ever  backward. 
They  were  many  and  they  would  become 
more.  The  British  were  the  Indian's  friends 
— the  Americans  were  his  enemies  and  theirs; 
could  they  choose  to  fight  with  their  enemies 
rather  than  with  their  friends  ?  Each  chief 
answered  in  turn,  and  each  cast  forward  his 
wampum  until  only  Erskine,  who  had  sat 
silent,  remained,  and  Pontiac  himself  turned 
to  him. 

"What  says  the  son  of  Kahtoo  ?" 

Even  as  he  rose  the  lad  saw  creeping  to  the 
outer  ring  his  enemy  Crooked  Lightning,  but 
he  appeared  not  to  see.  The  whites  looked 


i32  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

surprised  when  his  boyish  figure  stood  straight, 
and  they  were  amazed  when  he  addressed  the 
traders  in  French,  the  agents  in  English, 
and  spoke  to  the  feathered  chiefs  in  their 
own  tongue.  He  cast  the  belt  forward. 
"That  is  Kahtoo's  talk,  but  this  is  mine." 
Who  had  driven  the  Indian  from  the  great 
waters  to  the  great  wall  ?  The  British.  Who 
were  the  Americans  until  now?  British. 
Why  were  the  Americans  fighting  now  ?  Be- 
cause the  British,  their  kinsmen,  would  not 
give  them  their  rights.  If  the  British  would 
drive  the  Indian  to  the  great  wall,  would 
they  not  go  on  doing  what  they  charged  the 
Americans  with  doing  now  ?  If  the  Indians 
must  fight,  why  fight  with  the  British  to  beat 
the  Americans,  and  then  have  to  fight  both 
a  later  day  ?  If  the  British  would  not  treat 
their  own  kinsmen  fairly,  was  it  likely  that 
they  would  treat  the  Indian  fairly  ?  They 
had  never  done  so  yet.  Would  it  not  be 
better  for  the  Indian  to  make  the  white  man 
on  his  own  land  a  friend  rather  than  the  white 
man  who  lived  more  than  a  moon  away  across 
the  big  seas  ?  Only  one  gesture  the  lad  made. 
He  lifted  his  hand  high  and  paused.  Crooked 


'That  is  Kahtoo's  talk,  but  this  is  mine' 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  133 

Lightning  had  sprung  to  his  feet  with  a  hoarse 
cry.  Already  the  white  men  had  grown  un- 
easy, for  the  chiefs  had  turned  to  the  boy 
with  startled  interest  at  his  first  sentence 
and  they  could  not  know  what  he  was  saying. 
But  they  looked  relieved  when  Crooked  Light- 
ning rose,  for  his  was  the  only  face  in  the 
assembly  that  was  hostile  to  the  boy.  With 
a  gesture  Pontiac  bade  Crooked  Lightning 
speak. 

"The  tongue  of  White  Arrow  is  forked.  I 
have  heard  him  say  he  would  fight  with  the 
Long  Knives  against  the  British  and  he  would 
fight  with  them  even  against  his  own  tribe." 
One  grunt  of  rage  ran  the  round  of  three 
circles  and  yet  Pontiac  stopped  Crooked 
Lightning  and  turned  to  the  lad.  Slowly  the 
boy's  uplifted  hand  came  down.  With  a 
bound  he  leaped  through  the  head-dress  of  a 
chief  in  the  outer  ring  and  sped  away  through 
the  village.  Some  started  on  foot  after  him, 
some  rushed  to  their  ponies,  and  some  sent 
arrows  and  bullets  after  him.  At  the  edge 
of  the  village  the  boy  gave  a  loud,  clear  call 
and  then  another  as  he  ran.  Something  black 
sprang  snorting  from  the  edge  of  the  woods 


i34  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

with  pointed  ears  and  searching  eyes.  An- 
other call  came  and  like  the  swirling  edge  of 
a  hurricane-driven  thunder-cloud  Firefly  swept 
after  his  master.  The  boy  ran  to  meet  him, 
caught  one  hand  in  his  mane  before  he  stopped, 
swung  himself  up,  and  in  a  hail  of  arrows  and 
bullets  swept  out  of  sight. 


XIII 

THE  sound  of  pursuit  soon  died  away,  but 
Erskine  kept  Firefly  at  his  best,  for  he  knew 
that  Crooked  Lightning  would  be  quick  and 
fast  on  his  trail.  He  guessed,  too,  that 
Crooked  Lightning  had  already  told  the  tribe 
what  he  had  just  told  the  council,  and  that 
he  and  the  prophet  had  already  made  all 
use  of  the  boy's  threat  to  Kahtoo  in  the 
Shawnee  town.  He  knew  even  that  it  might 
cost  him  his  life  if  he  went  back  there,  and 
once  or  twice  he  started  to  turn  through  the 
wilderness  and  go  back  to  the  fort.  Winter 
was  on,  and  he  had  neither  saddle  nor  bridle, 
but  neither  fact  bothered  him.  It  was  the 
thought  of  the  white  woman  who  was  to  be 
burned  that  kept  him  going  and  sent  him 
openly  and  fearlessly  into  the  town.  He 
knew  from  the  sullen  looks  that  met  him, 
from  the  fear  in  the  faces  of  his  foster-mother 
and  the  white  woman  who  peered  blindly 
135 


i36  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

from  her  lodge,  and  from  the  triumphant 
leer  of  the  prophet  that  his  every  suspicion 
was  true,  but  all  the  more  leisurely  did  he 
swing  from  his  horse,  all  the  more  haughtily 
stalk  to  Kahtoo's  tent.  And  the  old  chief 
looked  very  grave  when  the  lad  told  the  stcry 
of  the  council  and  all  that  he  had  said  and 
done. 

"The  people  are  angry.  They  say  you 
are  a  traitor  and  a  spy.  They  say  you  must 
die.  And  I  cannot  help  you.  I  am  too  old 
and  the  prophet  is  too  strong." 

"And  the  white  woman  ?" 

"She  will  not  burn.  Some  fur  traders 
have  been  here.  The  white  chief  McGee  sent 
me  a  wampum  belt  and  a  talk.  His  mes- 
senger brought  much  fire-water  and  he  gave 
me  that" — he  pointed  to  a  silver-mounted 
rifle — "and  I  promised  that  she  should  live. 
But  I  cannot  help  you."  Erskine  thought 
quickly.  He  laid  his  rifle  down,  stepped 
slowly  outside,  and  stretched  his  arms  with  a 
yawn.  Then  still  leisurely  he  moved  toward 
his  horse  as  though  to  take  care  of  it.  But 
the  braves  were  too  keen  and  watchful  and 
they  were  not  fooled  by  the  fact  that  he  had 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  137 

left  his  rifle  behind.  Before  he  was  close 
enough  to  leap  for  Firefly's  back,  three  bucks 
darted  from  behind  a  lodge  and  threw  them- 
selves upon  him.  In  a  moment  he  was  face 
down  on  the  ground,  his  hands  were  tied  be- 
hind his  back,  and  when  turned  over  he  looked 
up  into  the  grinning  face  of  Black  Wolf, 
who  with  the  help  of  another  brave  dragged 
him  to  a  lodge  and  roughly  threw  him  within, 
and  left  him  alone.  On  the  way  he  saw  his 
foster-mother's  eyes  flashing  helplessly,  saw 
the  girl  Early  Morn  indignantly  telling  her 
mother  what  was  going  on,  and  the  white  wom- 
an's face  was  wet  with  tears.  He  turned  over 
so  that  he  could  look  through  the  tent-flaps. 
Two  bucks  were  driving  a  stake  in  the  centre 
of  the  space  around  which  the  lodges  were 
ringed.  Two  more  were  bringing  fagots  of 
wood  and  it  was  plain  what  was  going  to  be- 
come of  him.  His  foster-mother,  who  was 
fiercely  haranguing  one  of  the  chiefs,  turned 
angrily  into  Kahtoo's  lodge  and  he  could  see 
the  white  woman  rocking  her  body  and  wring- 
ing her  hands.  Then  the  old  chief  appeared 
and  lifted  his  hands. 

"Crooked   Lightning  will   be  very  angry. 


138  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

The  prisoner  is  his — not  yours.  It  is  for  him 
to  say  what  the  punishment  shall  be — not 
for  you.  Wait  for  him !  Hold  a  council  and 
if  you  decide  against  him,  though  he  is  my 
son — he  shall  die."  For  a  moment  the  prep- 
arations ceased  and  all  turned  to  the  proph- 
et, who  had  appeared  before  his  lodge. 

"Kahtoo  is  right,"  he  said.  "The  Great 
Spirit  will  not  approve  if  White  Arrow  die 
except  by  the  will  of  the  council — and  Crooked 
Lightning  will  be  angry."  There  was  a  chorus 
of  protesting  grunts,  but  the  preparations 
ceased.  The  boy  could  feel  the  malevolence 
in  the  prophet's  tone  and  he  knew  that  the 
impostor  wanted  to  curry  further  favor  with 
Crooked  Lightning  and  not  rob  him  of  the 
joy  of  watching  his  victim's  torture.  So  the 
braves  went  back  to  their  fire-water,  and  soon 
the  boy's  foster-mother  brought  him  some- 
thing to  eat,  but  she  could  say  nothing,  for 
Black  Wolf  had  appointed  himself  sentinel 
and  sat  rifle  in  hand  at  the  door  of  the  lodge. 

Night  came  on.  A  wildcat  screeched,  a 
panther  screamed,  and  'an  elk  bugled  far 
away.  The  drinking  became  more  furious 
and  once  Erskine  saw  a  pale-brown  arm 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  139 

thrust  from  behind  the  lodge  and  place  a 
jug  at  the  feet  of  Black  Wolf,  who  grunted 
and  drank  deep.  The  stars  mounted  into  a 
clear  sky  and  the  wind  rose  and  made  much 
noise  in  the  trees  overhead.  One  by  one  the 
braves  went  to  drunken  sleep  about  the  fire. 
The  fire  died  down  and  by  the  last  flickering 
flame  the  lad  saw  Black  Wolfs  chin  sinking 
sleepily  to  his  chest.  There  was  the  slightest 
rustle  behind  the  tent.  He  felt  something 
groping  for  his  hands  and  feet,  felt  the  point 
of  a  knife  graze  the  skin  of  his  wrist  and  ankles 
— felt  the  thongs  loosen  and  drop  apart. 
Noiselessly,  inch  by  inch,  he  crept  to  the 
wall  of  the  tent,  which  was  carefully  lifted  for 
him.  Outside  he  rose  and  waited.  Like  a 
shadow  the  girl  Early  Morn  stole  before  him 
and  like  a  shadow  he  followed.  The  loose 
snow  muffled  their  feet  as  the  noise  of  the 
wind  had  muffled  his  escape  from  the  lodge, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  they  were  by  the  river- 
bank,  away  from,  the  town.  The  moon  rose 
and  from  the  shadow  of  a  beech  the  white 
woman  stepped  forth  with  his  rifle  and 
powder-horn  and  bullet-pouch  and  some  food. 
She  pointed  to  his  horse  a  little  farther  down. 


140  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

He  looked  long  and  silently  into  the  Indian 
girl's  eyes  and  took  the  white  woman's  shak- 
ing hand.  Once  he  looked  back.  The  Indian 
girl  was  stoic  as  stone.  A  bar  of  moonlight 
showed  the  white  woman's  face  wet  with  tears. 

Again  Dave  Yandell  from  a  watch-tower 
saw  a  topknot  rise  above  a  patch  of  cane 
now  leafless  and  winter-bitten — saw  a  hand 
lifted  high  above  it  with  a  palm  of  peace 
toward  him.  And  again  an  Indian  youth 
emerged,  this  time  leading  a  black  horse  with 
a  drooping  head.  Both  came  painfully  on, 
staggering,  it  seemed,  from  wounds  or  weak- 
ness, and  Dave  sprang  from  the  tower  and 
rushed  with  others  to  the  gate.  He  knew  the 
horse  and  there  was  dread  in  his  heart; 
perhaps  the  approaching  Indian  had  slain 
the  boy,  had  stolen  the  horse,  and  was  inno- 
cently coming  there  for  food.  Well,  he 
thought  grimly,  revenge  would  be  swift. 
Still,  fearing  some  trick,  he  would  let  no  one 
outside,  but  himself  stood  waiting  with  the 
gate  a  little  ajar.  So  gaunt  were  boy  and 
beast  that  it  was  plain  that  both  were  starv- 
ing. The  boy's  face  was  torn  with  briers 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  141 

and  pinched  with  hunger  and  cold,  but  a 
faint  smile  came  from  it. 

"Don't  you  know  me,  Dave?"  he  asked 
weakly. 

" My  God !    It's  White  Arrow  I" 


XIV 

STRAIGHTWAY  the  lad  sensed  a  curious 
change  in  the  attitude  of  the  garrison.  The 
old  warmth  was  absent.  The  atmosphere 
was  charged  with  suspicion,  hostility.  Old 
Jerome  was  surly,  his  old  playmates  were 
distant.  Only  Dave,  Mother  Sanders,  and 
Lydia  were  unchanged.  The  predominant 
note  was  curiosity,  and  they  started  to  ply 
him  with  questions,  but  Dave  took  him  to  a 
cabin,  and  Mother  Sanders  brought  him  some- 
thing to  eat. 

"Had  a  purty  hard  time,"  stated  Dave. 
The  boy  nodded. 

"I  had  only  three  bullets.  Firefly  went 
lame  and  I  had  to  lead  him.  I  couldn't  eat 
cane  and  Firefly  couldn't  eat  pheasant.  I 
got  one  from  a  hawk,"  he  explained.  "  What's 
the  matter  out  there  ?" 

"Nothin',"  said  Dave  gruffly  and  he  made 
the  boy  go  to  sleep.  His  story  came  when  all 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  143 

were  around  the  fire  at  supper,  and  was  lis- 
tened to  with  eagerness.  Again  the  boy  felt 
the  hostility  and  it  made  him  resentful  and 
haughty  and  his  story  brief  and  terse.  Most 
fluid  and  sensitive  natures  have  a  chameleon 
quality,  no  matter  what  stratum  of  adamant 
be  beneath.  The  boy  was  dressed  like  an 
Indian,  he  looked  like  one,  and  he  had  brought 
back,  it  seemed,  the  bearing  of  an  Indian — 
his  wildness  and  stoicism.  He  spoke  like  a 
chief  in  a  council,  and  even  in  English  his 
phrasing  and  metaphors  belonged  to  the  red 
man.  No  wonder  they  believed  the  stories 
they  had  heard  of  him — but  there  was  shame 
in  many  faces  and  little  doubt  in  any  save  one 
before  he  finished. 

He  had  gone  to  see  his  foster-mother  and 
his  foster-father — old  chief  Kahtoo,  the  Shaw- 
nee — because  he  had  given  his  word.  Kah- 
too thought  he  was  dying  and  wanted  him 
to  be  chief  when  the  Great  Spirit  called. 
Kahtoo  had  once  saved  his  life,  had  been  kind, 
and  made  him  a  son.  That  he  could  not 
forget.  An  evil  prophet  had  come  to  the 
tribe  and  through  his  enemies,  Crooked  Light- 
ning and  Black  Wolf,  had  gained  much  in- 


144  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

fluence.  '  They  were  to  burn  a  captive  white 
woman  as  a  sacrifice.  He  had  stayed  to 
save  her,  to  argue  with  old  Kahtoo,  and  carry 
the  wampum  and  a  talk  to  a  big  council  with 
the  British.  He  had  made  his  talk  and — 

I  escaped.  He  had  gone  back  to  his  tribe, 
had  been  tied,  and  was  to  be  burned  at  the 
stake.  Again  he  had  escaped  with  the  help 
of  the  white  woman  and  her  daughter.  The 
tribes  had  joined  the  British  and  even  then 
they  were  planning  an  early  attack  on  this 

.  very  fort  and  all  others. 

The  interest  was  tense  and  every  face  was 
startled  at  this  calm  statement  of  their  imme- 
diate danger.  Dave  and  Lydia  looked  tri- 
umphant at  this  proof  of  their  trust,  but  old 
Jerome  burst  out : 

"Why  did  you  have  to  escape  from  the 
council — and  from  the  Shawnees  ?"  The  boy 
felt  the  open  distrust  and  he  rose  proudly. 

"At  the  council  I  told  the  Indians  that 
they  should  be  friends,  not  enemies,  of  the 
Americans,  and  Crooked  Lightning  called 
me  a  traitor.  He  had  overheard  my  talk 
with  Kahtoo." 

"What  was  that  ?"  asked  Dave  quickly. 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  145 

"I  told  Kahtoo  I  would  fight  with  the 
Americans  against  the  British  and  Indians; 
and  with  you  against  him!"  And  he  turned 
away  and  went  back  to  the  cabin. 

"What'd  I  tell  ye  !"  cried  Dave  indignantly 
and  he  followed  the  boy,  who  had  gone  to 
his  bunk,  and  put  one  big  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"They  thought  you'd  turned  Injun  agin," 
he  said,  "but  it's  all  right  now." 

"I  know/'  said  the  lad  and  with  a  muffled 
sound  that  was  half  the  grunt  of  an  Indian 
and  half  the  sob  of  a  white  man  turned  his 
face  away. 

Again  Dave  reached  for  the  lad's  shoulder. 

"Don't  blame  'em  too  much.  I'll  tell 
you  now.  Some  fur  traders  came  by  here, 
and  one  of  'em  said  you  was  goin'  to  marry 
an  Injun  girl  named  Early  Morn;  that  you 
was  goin'  to  stay  with  'em  and  fight  with  'em 
alongside  the  British.  Of  course  I  knowed 
better  but " 

"Why,"  interrupted  Erskine,  "they  must 
have  been  the  same  traders  who  came  to  the 
Shawnee  town  and  brought  whiskey." 

"That's  what  the  feller  said  and  why  folks 
here  believed  him." 


146  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"Who  was  he  ?"  demanded  Erskine. 

"You  know  him — Dane  Grey." 

All  tried  to  make  amends  straightway  for 
the  injustice  they  had  done  him,  but  the  boy's 
heart  remained  sore  that  their  trust  was  so 
little.  Then,  when  they  gathered  all  settlers 
within  the  fort  and  made  all  preparations  and 
no  Indians  came,  many  seemed  again  to  get 
distrustful  and  the  lad  was  not  happy. 
The  winter  was  long  and  hard.  A  blizzard 
had  driven  the  game  west  and  south  and  the 
garrison  was  hard  put  to  it  for  food.  Every 
day  that  the  hunters  went  forth  the  boy  was 
among  them  and  he  did  far  more  than  his  share 
in  the  killing  of  game.  But  when  winter  was 
breaking,  more  news  came  in  of  the  war. 
The  flag  that  had  been  fashioned  of  a  soldier's 
white  shirt,  an  old  blue  army  coat,  and  a  red 
petticoat  was  now  the  Stars  and  Stripes  of  the 
American  cause.  Burgoyne  had  not  cut  off 
New  England,  that  "head  of  the  rebellion," 
from  the  other  colonies.  On  the  contrary, 
the  Americans  had  beaten  him  at  Saratoga 
and  marched  his  army  off  under  those  same 
Stars  and  Stripes,  and  for  the  first  time  Erskine 
heard  of  gallant  Lafayette — how  he^had  run 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  147 

to  Washington  with  the  portentous  news  from 
his  king — that  beautiful,  passionate  France 
would  now  stretch  forth  her  helping  hand. 
And  Erskine  learned  what  that  news  meant 
to  Washington's  "naked  and  starving"  sol- 
diers dying  on  the  frozen  hillsides  of  Valley 
Forge.  Then  George  Rogers  Clark  had 
passed  the  fort  on  his  way  to  Williamsburg 
to  get  money  and  men  for  his  great  venture 
in  the  Northwest,  and  Erskine  got  a  ready  per- 
mission to  accompany  him  as  soldier  and 
guide.  After  Clark  was  gone  the  lad  got 
restless;  and  one  morning  when  the  first 
breath  of  spring  came  he  mounted  his  horse, 
in  spite  of  arguments  and  protestations,  and 
set  forth  for  Virginia  on  the  wilderness  trail. 
He  was  going  to  join  Clark,  he  said,  but  more 
than  Clark  and  the  war  were  drawing  him 
to  the  outer  world.  What  it  was  he  hardly 
knew,  for  he  was  not  yet  much  given  to  search- 
ing his  heart  or  mind.  He  did  know,  however, 
that  some  strange  force  had  long  been  work- 
ing within  him  that  was  steadily  growing 
stronger,  was  surging  now  like  a  flame  and 
swinging  him  between  strange  moods  of  de- 
pression and  exultation.  Perhaps  it  was  but 


148  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

the  spirit  of  spring  in  his  heart,  but  with  his 
mind's  eye  he  was  ever  seeing  at  the  end  of 
his  journey  the  face  of  his  little  cousin  Bar- 
bara Dale. 


XV 

A  STRIKING  figure  the  lad  made  riding  into 
the  old  capital  one  afternoon  just  before  the 
sun  sank  behind  the  western  woods.  Had 
it  been  dusk  he  might  have  been  thought  to 
be  an  Indian  sprung  magically  from  the  wilds 
and  riding  into  civilization  on  a  stolen  thor- 
oughbred. Students  no  longer  wandered 
through  the  campus  of  William  and  Mary 
College.  Only  an  occasional  maid  in  silk 
and  lace  tripped  along  the  street  in  high- 
heeled  shoes  and  clocked  stockings,  and  no 
coach  and  four  was  in  sight.  The  governor's 
palace,  in  its  great  yard  amid  linden-trees, 
was  closed  and  deserted.  My  Lord  Dunmore 
was  long  in  sad  flight,  as  Erskine  later  learned, 
and  not  in  his  coach  with  its  six  milk-white 
horses.  But  there  was  the  bust  of  Sir  Walter 
in  front  of  Raleigh  Tavern,  and  there  he  drew 
up,  before  the  steps  where  he  was  once  nigh 
to  taking  Dane  Grey's  life.  A  negro  servant 
came  forward  to  care  for  his  horse,  but  a 

coal-black  young  giant   leaped   around   the 

149 


150  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

corner  and  seized  the  bridle  with  a  wel- 
coming cry: 

"  Marse  Erskine !  But  I  knowed  Firefly 
fust."  It  was  Ephraim,  the  groom  who  had 
brought  out  Barbara's  ponies,  who  had  turned 
the  horse  over  to  him  for  the  race  at  the  fair. 

"I  come  frum  de  plantation  fer  ole  marse," 
the  boy  explained.  The  host  of  the  tavern 
heard  and  came  down  to  give  his  welcome,  for 
any  Dale,  no  matter  what  his  garb,  could  al- 
ways have  the  best  in  that  tavern.  More 
than  that,  a  bewigged  solicitor,  learning  his 
name,  presented  himself  with  the  cheerful 
news  that  he  had  quite  a  little  sum  of  money 
that  had  been  confided  to  his  keeping  by 
Colonel  Dale  for  his  nephew  Erskine.  A 
strange  deference  seemed  to  be  paid  him 
by  everybody,  which  was  a  grateful  change 
from  the  suspicion  he  had  left  among  his 
pioneer  friends.  The  little  tavern  was 
thronged  and  the  air  charged  with  the  spirit 
of  war.  Indeed,  nothing  else  was  talked. 
My  Lord  Dunmore  had  come  to  a  sad  and 
unbemoaned  end.  He  had  stayed  afar  from 
the  battle-field  of  Point  Pleasant  and  had  left 
stalwart  General  Lewis  to  fight  Cornstalk  and 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  151 

his  braves  alone.  Later  my  Lady  Dunmore 
and  her  sprightly  daughters  took  refuge  on  a 
man-of-war — \  /hither  my  lord  soon  followed 
them.  His  fleet  ravaged  the  banks  of  the 
rivers  and  committed  every  outrage.  His 
marines  set  fire  to  Norfolk,  which  was  in  ashes 
when  he  weighed  anchor  and  sailed  away  to 
more  depredations.  When  he  intrenched  him- 
self on  Gwynn's  Island,  that  same  stalwart 
Lewis  opened  a  heavy  cannonade  on  fleet  and 
island,  and  sent  a  ball  through  the  indignant 
nobleman's  flag-ship.  Next  day  he  saw  a 
force  making  for  the  island  in  boats,  and  my 
lord  spread  all  sail;  and  so  back  to  merry 
England,  and  to  Virginia  no  more.  Mean- 
while, Mr.  Washington  had  reached  Boston 
and  started  his  duties  under  the  Cambridge 
elm.  Several  times  during  the  talk  Erskine 
had  heard  mentioned  the  name  of  Dane 
Grey.  Young  Grey  had  been  with  Dunmore 
and  not  with  Lewis  at  Point  Pleasant,  and 
had  been  conspicuous  at  the  palace  through 
much  of  the  succeeding  turmoil — the  hint 
being  his  devotion  to  one  of  the  daughters, 
since  he  was  now  an  unquestioned  loyalist. 
Next  morning  Erskine  rode  forth  along  a 


152  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

sandy  road,  amidst  the  singing  of  birds  and 
through  a  forest  of  tiny  upshooting  leaves, 
for  Red  Oaks  on  the  James.  He  had  for- 
sworn Colonel  Dale  to  secrecy  as  to  the  note 
he  had  left  behind  giving  his  birthright  to  his 
little  cousin  Barbara,  and  he  knew  the  con- 
fidence would  be  kept  inviolate.  He  could 
recall  the  road — every  turn  of  it,  for  the  woods- 
man's memory  is  faultless — and  he  could  see 
the  merry  cavalcade  and  hear  the  gay  quips 
and  laughter  of  that  other  spring  day  long 
ago,  for  to  youth  even  the  space  of  a  year  is 
very  long  ago.  But  among  the  faces  that  blos- 
somed within  the  old  coach,  and  nodded  and 
danced  'ike  flowers  in  a  wind,  his  mind's 
eye  was  fixed  on  one  alone.  At  the  boat- 
landing  he  hitched  his  horse  to  the  low-swung 
branch  of  an  oak  and  took  the  path  through 
tangled  rose-bushes  and  undergrowth  along 
the  bank  of  the  river,  halting  where  it  would 
give  him  forth  on  the  great,  broad,  grassy 
way  that  led  to  the  house  among  the  oaks. 
There  was  the  sun-dial  that  had  marked 
every  sunny  hour  since  he  had  been  away. 
For  a  moment  he  stood  there,  and  when  he 
stepped  into  the  open  he  shrank  back  hastily 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  153 

— a  girl  was  coming  through  the  opening  of 
boxwood  from  the  house — coming  slowly, 
bareheaded,  her  hands  clasped  behind  her,  her 
eyes  downward.  His  he^rt  throbbed  as  he 
waited,  throbbed  the  more  when  his  ears 
caught  even  the  soft  tread  of  her  little  feet,  and 
seemed  to  stop  when  she  paused  at  the  sun- 
dial, and  as  before  searched  the  river  with  her 
eyes.  And  as  before  the  song  of  negro  oarsmen 
came  over  the  yellow  flood,  growing  stronger  as 
they  neared.  Soon  the  girl  fluttered  a  hand- 
kerchief and  from  the  single  passenger  in  the 
stern  came  an  answering  flutter  of  white  and 
a  glad  cry.  At  the  bend  of  the  river  the  boat 
disappeared  from  Erskine's  sight  under  the 
bank,  and  he  watched  the  girl.  How  she 
had  grown !  Her  slim  figure  had  rounded 
and  shot  upward,  and  her  white  gown  had 
dropped  to  her  dainty  ankles.  Now  her  face 
was  flushed  and  her  eye  flashed  with  excite- 
ment— it  was  no  mere  kinsman  in  that  boat, 
and  the  boy's  heart  began  to  throb  again — 
throb  fiercely  and  with  racking  emotions  that 
he  had  never  known  before.  A  fiery-looking 
youth  sprang  up  the  landing-steps,  bowed 
gallantly  over  the  girl's  hand,  and  the  two 


154  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

turned  up  the  path,  the  girl  rosy  with  smiles 
and  the  youth  bending  over  her  with  a  most 
protecting  and  tender  air.  It  was  Dane  Grey, 
and  the  heart  of  the  watcher  turned  mortal 
sick. 


XVI 

A  LONG  time  Erskine  sat  motionless,  won- 
dering what  ailed  him.  He  had  never  liked  nor 
trusted  Grey;  he  believed  he  would  have 
trouble  with  him  some  day,  but  he  had  other 
enemies  and  he  did  not  feel  toward  them  as 
he  did  toward  this  dandy  mincing  up  that 
beautiful  broad  path.  With  a  little  grunt 
he  turned  back  along  the  path.  Firefly  whin- 
nied to  him  and  nipped  at  him  with  playful 
restlessness  as  though  eager  to  be  on  his  way 
to  the  barn,  and  he  stood  awhile  with  one 
arm  across  his  saddle.  Once  he  reached 
upward  to  untie  the  reins,  and  with  another 
grunt  strode  back  and  went  rapidly  up  the 
path.  Grey  and  Barbara  had  disappeared, 
but  a  tall  youth  who  sat  behind  one  of  the  big 
pillars  saw  him  coming  and  rose,  bewildered, 
but  not  for  long.  Each  recognized  the  other 
swiftly,  and  Hugh  came  with  stiff  courtesy 
forward.  Erskine  smiled: 

"You  don't  know  me  ?"     Hugh  bowed: 
"Quite  well."    The  woodsman  drew  him- 


156  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

self  up  with  quick  breath — paling  without, 
flaming  within — but  before  he  could  speak 
there  was  a  quick  step  and  an  astonished  cry 
within  the  hall  and  Harry  sprang  out. 

"Erskine!  Erskine!"  he  shouted,  and  he 
leaped  down  the  steps  with  both  hands 
outstretched.  "You  here!  You — you  old 
Indian — how  did  you  get  here  ?"  He  caught 
Erskine  by  both  hands  and  then  fell  to  shak- 
ing him  by  the  shoulders.  "Where's  your 
horse  ?"  And  then  he  noticed  the  boy's  pale 
and  embarrassed  face  and  his  eyes  shifting 
to  Hugh,  who  stood,  still  cold,  still  courte- 
ous, and  he  checked  some  hot  outburst  at  his 
lips. 

"I'm  glad  you've  come,  and  I'm  glad  you've 
come  right  now — where' s  your  horse  ?" 

"I  left  him  hitched  at  the  landing,"  Er- 
skine had  to  answer,  and  Harry  looked  puz- 
zled: 

"The  landing!  Why,  what—"  He 
wheeled  and  shouted  to  a  darky: 

"Put  Master  Erskine's  horse  in  the  barn 
and  feed  him."  And  he  led  Erskine  within — 
to  the  same  room  where  he  had  slept  before, 
and  poured  out  some  water  in  a  bowl. 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  157 

"Take  your  time,"  he  said,  and  he  went 
back  to  the  porch.  Erskine  could  hear  and 
see  him  through  the  latticed  blinds. 

"Hugh,"  said  the  lad  in  a  low,  cold  voice, 
"I  am  host  here,  and  if  you  don't  like  this 
you  can  take  that  path." 

"You  are  right,"  was  the  answer;  "but 
you  wait  until  Uncle  Harry  gets  home." 

The  matter  was  quite  plain  to  Erskine 
within.  The  presence  of  Dane  Grey  made  it 
plain,  and  as  Erskine  dipped  both  hands  into 
the  cold  water  he  made  up  his  mind  to  an 
understanding  with  that  young  gentleman 
that  would  be  complete  and  final.  And  so 
he  was  ready  when  he  and  Harry  were  on  the 
porch  again  and  Barbara  and  Grey  emerged 
from  the  rose-bushes  and  came  slowly  up  the 
path.  Harry  looked  worried,  but  Erskine  sat 
still,  with  a  faint  smile  at  his  mouth  and  in  his 
eyes.  Barbara  saw  him  first  and  she  did  not 
rush  forward.  Instead  she  stopped,  with  wide 
eyes,  a  stifled  cry,  and  a  lifting  of  one  hand 
toward  her  heart.  Grey  saw  too,  flushed 
rather  painfully,  and  calmed  himself.  Er- 
skine had  sprung  down  the  steps. 

"Why,  have  I  changed  so  much  ?"  he  cried. 


j  58  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"Hugh  didn't  seem  to  know  me,  either." 
His  voice  was  gay,  friendly,  even  affectionate, 
but  his  eyes  danced  with  strange  lights  that 
puzzled  the  girl. 

"Of  course  I  knew  you,"  she  faltered,  paling 
a  little  but  gathering  herself  rather  haughtily 
— a  fact  that  Erskine  seemed  not  to  notice. 
"You  took  me  by  surprise  and  you  have 
changed — but  I  don't  know  how  much." 
The  significance  of  this  too  seemed  to  pass 
Erskine  by,  for  he  bent  over  Barbara's  hand 
and  kissed  it. 

"Never  to  you,  my  dear  cousin,"  he  said 
gallantly,  and  then  he  bowed  to  Dane  Grey, 
not  offering  to  shake  hands. 

"Of  course  I  know  Mr.  Grey."  To  say 
that  the  gentleman  was  dumfounded  is  to 
put  it  mildly — this  wild  Indian  playing  the 
courtier  with  exquisite  impudence  and  doing 
it  well !  Harry  seemed  like  to  burst  with 
restrained  merriment,  and  Barbara  was  sorely 
put  to  it  to  keep  her  poise.  The  great  dinner- 
bell  from  behind  the  house  boomed  its  sum- 
mons to  the  woods  and  fields. 

"Come  on,"  called  Harry.  "I  imagine 
you're  hungry,  cousin." 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  159 

"I  am,"  said  Erskine.  "I've  had  noth- 
ing to  eat  since — since  early  morn/'  Bar- 
bara's eyes  flashed  upward  and  Grey  was 
plainly  startled.  Was  there  a  slight  stress 
on  those  two  words  ?  Erskine's  face  was  as 
expressionless  as  bronze.  Harry  had  bolted 
into  the  hall. 

Mrs.  Dale  was  visiting  down  the  river,  so 
Barbara  sat  in  her  mother's  place,  with  Er- 
skine at  her  right,  Grey  to  her  left,  Hugh  next 
to  him,  and  Harry  at  the  head.  Harry  did 
not  wait  long. 

"Now,  you  White  Arrow,  you  Big  Chief, 
tell  us  the  story.  Where  have  you  been, 
what  have  you  been  doing,  and  what  do  you 
mean  to  do  ?  I've  heard  a  good  deal,  but  I 
want  it  all." 

Grey  began  to  look  uncomfortable,  and  so, 
in  truth,  did  Barbara. 

"What  have  you  heard?"  asked  Erskine 
quietly. 

"Never  mind,"  interposed  Barbara  quickly; 
"you  tell  us." 

"Well,"  began  Erskine  slowly,  "you  re- 
member that  day  we  met  some  Indians  who 
told  me  that  old  Kahtoo,  my  foster-father,  was 


160  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

ill,  and  that  he  wanted  to  see  me  before  he 
died  ?  I  went  exactly  as  I  would  have  gone 
had  white  men  given  the  same  message  from 
Colonel  Dale,  and  even  for  better  reasons.  A 
bad  prophet  was  stirring  up  trouble  in  the 
tribe  against  the  old  chief.  An  enemy  of  mine, 
Crooked  Lightning,  was  helping  him.  He 
wanted  his  son,  Black  Wolf,  as  chief,  and  the 
old  chief  wanted  me.  I  heard  the  Indians 
were  going  to  join  the  British.  I  didn't  want 
to  be  chief,  but  I  did  want  influence  in  the 
tribe,  so  I  stayed.  There  was  a  white  woman 
in  the  camp  and  an  Indian  girl  named  Early 
Morn.  I  told  the  old  chief  that  I  would  fight 
with  the  whites  against  the  Indians  and  with 
the  whites  against  them  both.  Crooked 
Lightning  overheard  me,  and  you  can  im- 
agine what  use  he  made  of  what  I  said.  I 
took  the  wampum  belt  for  the  old  chief  to  the 
powwow  between  the  Indians  and  the  British, 
and  I  found  I  could  do  nothing.  I  met  Mr. 
Grey  there."  He  bowed  slightly  to  Dane  and 
then  looked  at  him  steadily.  "I  was  told  that 
he  was  there  in  the  interest  of  an  English 
fur  company.  When  I  found  I  could  do  noth- 
ing with  the  Indians,  I  told  the  council  what 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  161 

I  had  told  the  old  chief."  He  paused.  Bar- 
bara's face  was  pale  and  she  was  breathing 
hard.  She  had  not  looked  at  Grey,  but  Harry 
had  been  watching  him  covertly  and  he  did 
not  look  comfortable.  Erskine  paused. 

"What !"  shouted  Harry.  "You  told  both 
that  you  would  fight  with  the  whites  against 
both  !  What'd  they  do  to  you  ?" 

Erskine  smiled. 

"Well,  here  I  am.  I  jumped  over  the  heads 
of  the  outer  ring  and  ran.  Firefly  heard  me 
calling  him.  I  had  left  his  halter  loose.  He 
broke  away.  I  jumped  on  him,  and  you  know 
nothing  can  catch  Firefly." 

"Didn't  they  shoot  at  you?" 

"Of  course."     Again  he  paused. 

"Well,"  said  Harry  impatiently,  "that  isn't 
the  end." 

"  I  went  back  to  the  camp.  Crooked  Light- 
ning followed  me  and  they  tied  me  and  were 
going  to  burn  me  at  the  stake." 

"Good  heavens!"  breathed  Barbara. 

"How'd  you  get  away  ?" 

"The  Indian  girl,  Early  Morn,  slipped 
under  the  tent  and  cut  me  loose.  The  white 
woman  got  my  gun,  and  Firefly — you  know 


i62  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

nothing  can  catch  Firefly."  The  silence  was 
intense.  Hugh  looked  dazed,  Barbara  was 
on  the  point  of  tears,  Harry  was  triumphant, 
and  Grey  was  painfully  flushed. 

"And  you  want  to  know  what  I  am  going 
to  do  now?"  Erskine  went  on.  "I'm  going 
with  Captain  George  Rogers  Clark — with  what 
command  are  you,  Mr.  Grey?" 

"That's  a  secret,"  he  smiled  coolly.  "I'll 
let  you  know  later,"  and  Barbara,  with  an 
inward  sigh  of  relief,  rose  quickly,  but  would 
not  leave  them  behind. 

"But  the  white  woman  ?"  questioned  Harry. 
"Why  doesn't  she  leave  the  Indians  ?" 

"Early  Morn — a  half-breed — is  her  daugh- 
ter," said  Erskine  simply. 

"Oh !"  and  Karry  questioned  no  further. 

"Early  Morn  was  the  best-looking  Indian 
girl  I  ever  saw,"  said  Erskine,  "  and  the  brav- 
est." For  the  first  time  Grey  glanced  at  Bar- 
bara. "She  saved  my  life,"  Erskine  went 
on  gravely,  "and  mine  is  hers  whenever  she 
needs  it."  Harry  reached  over  and  gripped 
his  hand. 

As  yet  not  one  word  had  been  said  of  Grey's 
misdoing,  but  Barbara's  cool  disdain  made 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  163 

him  shamed  and  hot,  and  in  her  eyes  was  the 
sorrow  of  her  injustice  to  Erskine.  In  the 
hallway  she  excused  herself  with  a  courtesy, 
Hugh  went  to  the  stables,  Harry  disappeared 
for  a  moment,  and  the  two  were  left  alone. 
With  smouldering  fire  Erskine  turned  to 
Grey. 

"It  seems  you  have  been  amusing  yourself 
with  my  kinspeople  at  my  expense."  Grey 
drew  himself  up  in  haughty  silence.  Erskine 
went  on: 

"I  have  known  some  liars  who  were  not 
cowards." 

"You  forget  yourself." 

"No — nor  you." 

"You  remember  a  promise  I  made  you 
once  ?" 

"Twice,"  corrected  Erskine.  Grey's  eyes 
flashed  upward  to  the  crossed  rapiers  on  the 
wall. 

"Precisely,"  answered  Erskine,  "and 
when  ? " 

"At  the  first  opportunity." 

"From  this  moment  I  shall  be  waiting  for 
nothing  else." 

Barbara,    reappearing,    heard    their    last 


164  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

words,  and  she  came  forward  pale  and  with 
piercing  eyes: 

"Cousin  Erskine,  I  want  to  apologize  to 
you  for  my  little  faith.  I  hope  you  will  for- 
give me.  Mr.  Grey,  your  horse  will  be  at 
the  door  at  once.  I  wish  you  a  safe  journey 
— to  your  command."  Grey  bowed  and 
turned — furious. 

Erskine  was  on  the  porch  when  Grey  came 
out  to  mount  his  horse. 

"You  will  want  seconds  ?"  asked  Grey. 

"They  might  try  to  stop  us — no!" 

"I  shall  ride  slowly,"  Grey  said.  Erskine 
bowed. 

"I  shall  not." 


XVII 

NOR  did  he.  Within  half  an  hour  Bar- 
bara, passing  through  the  hall,  saw  that  the 
rapiers  were  gone  from  the  wall  and  she 
stopped,  with  the  color  fled  from  her  face 
and  her  hand  on  her  heart.  At  that  moment 
Ephraim  dashed  in  from  the  kitchen. 

"Miss  Barbary,  somebody  gwine  to  git 
killed.  I  was  wukkin'  in  de  ole  field  an' 
Marse  Grey  rid  by  cussin'  to  hisself.  Jist 
now  Marse  Erskine  went  tearin'  by  de  landin* 
wid  a  couple  o'  swords  under  his  arm."  His 
eyes  too  went  to  the  wall.  "Yes,  bless  Gawd, 
dey's  gone  !"  Barbara  flew  out  the  door. 

In  a  few  moments  she  had  found  Harry 
and  Hugh.  Even  while  their  horses  were 
being  saddled  her  father  rode  up. 

"It's  murder,"  cried  Harry,  "and  Grey 
knows  it.  Erskine  knows  nothing  about  a 
rapier." 

Without  a  word  Colonel  Dale  wheeled  his 
tired  horse  and  soon  Harry  and  Hugh  dashed 
after  him.  Barbara  walked  back  to  the 
165 


i66  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

house,  wringing  her  hands,  but  on  the  porch 
she  sat  quietly  in  the  agony  of  waiting  that 
was  the  role  of  women  in  those  days. 

Meanwhile,  at  a  swift  gallop  Firefly  was 
skimming  along  the  river  road.  Grey  had 
kept  his  word  and  more:  he  had  not  only  rid- 
den slowly  but  he  had  stopped  and  was  wait- 
ing at  an  oak-tree  that  was  a  corner-stone 
between  two  plantations. 

"That  I  may  not  kill  you  on  your  own 
land,"  he  said. 

Erskine  started.  "The  consideration  is 
deeper  than  you  know." 

They  hitched  their  horses,  and  Erskine 
followed  into  a  pleasant  glade — a  grassy 
glade  through  which  murmured  a  little  stream. 
Erskine  dropped  the  rapiers  on  the  sward. 

"Take  your  choice,"  he  said, 

"There  is  none,"  said  Grey,  picking  up  the 
one  nearer  to  him.  "I  know  them  both." 
Grey  took  off  his  coat  while  Erskine  waited. 
Grey  made  the  usual  moves  of  courtesy  and 
still  Erskine  waited,  wonderingly,  with  the 
point  of  the  rapier  on  the  ground. 

"When  you  are  ready,"  he  said,  "will 
you  please  let  me  know  ?" 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  167 

"Ready!"  answered  Grey,  and  he  lunged 
forward.  Erskine  merely  whipped  at  his 
blade  so  that  the  clang  of  it  whined  on  the 
air  to  the  breaking-point  and  sprang  back- 
ward. He  was  as  quick  as  an  eyelash  and 
lithe  as  a  panther,  and  yet  Grey  almost 
laughed  aloud.  All  Erskine  did  was  to  whip 
the  thrusting  blade  aside  and  leap  out  of 
danger  like  a  flash  of  light.  It  was  like  an 
inexpert  boxer  flailing  according  to  rules  un- 
known— and  Grey's  face  flamed  and  actually 
turned  anxious.  Then,  as  a  kindly  fate  would 
have  it,  Erskine's  blade  caught  in  Grey's 
guard  by  accident,  and  the  powerful  wrist 
behind  it  seeking  merely  to  wrench  the  weap- 
on loose  tore  Grey's  rapier  from  his  grasp 
and  hurled  it  ten  feet  away.  There  is  no 
greater  humiliation  for  the  expert  swords- 
man, and  not  for  nothing  had  Erskine  suf- 
fered the  shame  of  that  long-ago  day  when 
a  primitive  instinct  had  led  him  to  thrusting 
his  knife  into  this  same  enemy's  breast. 
Now,  with  his  sword's  point  on  the  earth,  he 
waited  courteously  for  Grey  to  recover  his 
weapon. 

Again    a    kindly    fate    intervened.     Even 


i68  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

as  Grey  rushed  for  his  sword,  Erskine  heard 
the  beat  of  horses'  hoofs.  As  he  snatched  it 
from  the  ground  and  turned,  with  a  wicked 
smile  over  his  grinding  teeth,  came  Harry's 
shout,  and  as  he  rushed  for  Erskine,  Colonel 
Dale  swung  from  his  horse.  The  sword-blades 
clashed,  Erskine  whipping  back  and  forth  in  a 
way  to  make  a  swordsman  groan — and  Colonel 
Dale  had  Erskine  by  the  wrist  and  was  be- 
tween them. 

"How  dare  you,  sir?"  cried  Grey  hotly. 

"Just  a  moment,  young  gentleman,"  said 
Colonel  Dale  calmly. 

"Let  us  alone,  Uncle  Harry— I " 

"Just  a  moment,"  repeated  the  colonel 
sternly.  "Mr.  Grey,  do  you  think  it  quite 
fair  that  you  with  your  skill  should  fight  a 
man  who  knows  nothing  about  foils  ?" 

"There  was  no  other  way,"  Grey  said 
sullenly. 

"And  you  could  not  wait,  I  presume  ?" 
Grey  did  not  answer. 

"  Now,  hear  what  I  have  to  say,  and  if  you 
both  do  not  agree,  the  matter  will  be  arranged 
to  your  entire  satisfaction,  Mr.  Grey.  I  have 
but  one  question  to  ask.  Your  country  is  at 
war.  She  needs  every  man  for  her  defense. 


The  sword  blades  clashed,  Erskine  whipping  back  and  forth  in  a 
way  to  make  a  swordsman  groan 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  169 

Do  you  not  both  think  your  lives  belong  to 
your  country  and  that  it  is  selfish  and  un- 
patriotic just  now  to  risk  them  in  any  other 
cause  ?"  He  waited  for  his  meaning  to  sink 
in,  and  sink  it  did. 

"Colonel  Dale,  your  nephew  grossly  in- 
sulted me,  and  your  daughter  showed  me  the 
door.  I  made  no  defense  to  him  nor  to  her, 
but  I  will  to  you.  I  merely  repeated  what  I 
had  been  told  and  I  believed  it  true.  Now 
that  I  hear  it  is  not  true,  I  agree  with  you,  sir, 
and  I  am  willing  to  express  my  regrets  and 
apologies." 

"That  is  better,"  said  Colonel  Dale  heartily, 
and  he  turned  to  Erskine,  but  Erskine  was 
crying  hotly: 

"And  I  express  neither." 

"Very  well,"  sneered  Grey  coldly.  "Per- 
haps we  may  meet  when  your  relatives  are 
not  present  to  protect  you." 

"Uncle  Harry —  '  Erskine  implored,  but 
Grey  was  turning  toward  his  horse. 

"After  all,  Colonc \  Dale  is  right." 

"Yes,"  assented  Erskine  helplessly,  and 
then — "it  is  possible  that  we  shall  not  always 
be  on  the  same  side." 

"So  I  thought,"  returned  Grey  with  lifted 


i7o  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

eyebrows,  "when  I  heard  what  I  did  about 
you!"  Both  Harry  and  Hugh  had  to  catch 
Erskine  by  an  arm  then,  and  they  led  him 
struggling  away.  Grey  mounted  his  horse, 
lifted  his  hat,  and  was  gone.  Colonel  Dale 
picked  up  the  swords. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "enough  of  all  this — let 
it  be  forgotten." 

And  he  laughed. 

"You'll  have  to  confess,  Erskine — he  has  a 
quick  tongue  and  you  must  think  only  of  his 
temptation  to  use  it." 

Erskine  did  not  answer. 

As  they  rode  back  Colonel  Dale  spoke  of 
the  war.  It  was  about  to  move  into  Vir- 
ginia, he  said,  and  when  it  did —  Both  Harry 
and  Hugh  interrupted  him  with  a  glad  shout: 

"  We  can  go ! "    Colonel  Dale  nodded  sadly. 

Suddenly  all  pulled  their  horses  in  simul- 
taneously and  raised  their  eyes,  for  all  heard 
the  coming  of  a  horse  in  a  dead  run.  Around 
a  thicketed  curve  of  the  road  came  Barbara, 
with  her  face  white  and  her  hair  streaming  be- 
hind her.  She  pulled  her  pony  in  but  a  few 
feet  in  front  of  them,  with  her  burning  eyes  on 
Erskine  alone. 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  171 

"Have  you  killed  him — have  you  killed 
him  ?  If  you  have — "  She  stopped  helpless, 
and  all  were  so  amazed  that  none  could  an- 
swer. Erskine  shook  his  head.  There  was 
a  flash  of  relief  in  the  girl's  white  face,  its 
recklessness  gave  way  to  sudden  shame,  and, 
without  a  word,  she  wheeled  and  was  away 
again — Harry  flying  after  her.  No  one  spoke. 
Colonel  Dale  looked  aghast  and  Erskine's 
heart  again  turned  sick. 


XVIII 

THE  sun  was  close  to  the  uneven  sweep  of 
the  wilderness.  Through  its  slanting  rays 
the  river  poured  like  a  flood  of  gold.  The 
negroes  were  on  the  way  singing  from  the 
fields.  Cries,  chaffing,  and  the  musical  clank- 
ing of  trace-chains  came  from  the  barnyard. 
Hungry  cattle  were  lowing  and  full-uddered 
mothers  were  mooing  answers  to  bawling 
calves.  A  peacock  screamed  from  a  distant 
tree  and  sailed  forth,  full-spread — a  great 
gleaming  winged  jewel  of  the  air.  In  crises 
the  nerves  tighten  like  violin  strings,  the 
memory-plates  turn  abnormally  sensitive — 
and  Erskine  was  not  to  forget  that  hour. 

The  house  was  still  and  not  a  soul  was  in 
sight  as  the  three,  still  silent,  walked  up  the 
great  path.  When  they  were  near  the  portico 
Harry  came  out.  He  looked  worried  and 
anxious. 

"Where's  Barbara  ?"  asked  her  father. 

"Locked  in  her  room." 

"Let  her  alone,"  said  Colonel  Dale  gently. 

172 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  173 

Like  brother  and  cousin,  Harry  and  Hugh 
were  merely  irritated  by  the  late  revelation, 
but  the  father  was  shocked  that  his  child  was 
no  longer  a  child.  Erskine  remembered  the 
girl  as  she  waited  for  Grey's  coming  at  the 
sun-dial,  her  face  as  she  walked  with  him  up 
the  path.  For  a  moment  the  two  boys  stood 
in  moody  silence.  Harry  took  the  rapiers  in 
and  put  them  in  their  place  on  the  wall. 
Hugh  quietly  disappeared.  Erskine,  with  a 
word  of  apology,  went  to  his  room,  and  Col- 
onel Dale  sat  down  on  the  porch  alone. 

As  the  dusk  gathered,  Erskine,  looking 
gloomily  through  his  window,  saw  the  girl 
flutter  like  a  white  moth  past  the  box-hedge 
and  down  the  path.  A  moment  later  he  saw 
the  tall  form  of  Colonel  Dale  follow  her — and 
both  passed  from  sight.  On  the  thick  turf 
the  colonel's  feet  too  were  noiseless,  and  when 
Barbara  stopped  at  the  sun-dial  he  too  paused. 
Her  hands  were  caught  tight  and  her  drawn 
young  face  was  lifted  to  the  yellow  disk  just 
rising  from  the  far  forest  gloom.  She  was 
unhappy,  and  the  colonel's  heart  ached  sorely, 
for  any  unhappiness  of  hers  always  trebled 
his  own. 


i74  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"Little  girl!"  he  called,  and  no  lover's 
voice  could  have  been  more  gentle.  "Come 
here !" 

She  turned  and  saw  him,  with  arms  out- 
stretched, the  low  moon  lighting  all  the 
tenderness  in  his  fine  old  face,  and  she  flew 
to  him  and  fell  to  weeping  on  his  breast.  In 
wise  silence  he  stroked  her  hair  until  she 
grew  a  little  calmer. 

"What's  the  matter,  little  daughter?" 

"I— I— don't  know." 

"I  understand.  You  were  quite  right  to 
send  him  away,  but  you  did  not  want  him 
harmed." 

"I — I — didn't  want  anybody  harmed." 

"I  know.  It's  too  bad,  but  none  of  us 
seem  quite  to  trust  him." 

"That's  it,"  she  sobbed;  "I  don't  either, 
and  yet " 

"  I  know.  I  know.  My  little  girl  must  be 
wise  and  brave,  and  maybe  it  will  all  pass  and 
she  will  be  glad.  But  she  must  be  brave. 
Mother  is  not  well  and  she  must  not  be  made 
unhappy  too.  She  must  not  know.  Can't 
my  little  girl  come  back  to  the  house  now  ? 
She  must  be  hostess  and  this  is  Erskine's  last 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  175 

night."  She  looked  up,  brushing  away  her 
tears. 

"His  last  night  ?"    Ah,  wise  old  colonel ! 

"Yes — he  goes  to-morrow  to  join  Captain 
Clark  at  Williamsburg  on  his  foolish  cam- 
paign in  the  Northwest.  We  might  never 
see  him  again." 

"Oh,  father!" 

"Well,  it  isn't  that  bad,  but  my  little  girl 
must  be  very  nice  to  him.  He  seems  to  be 
very  unhappy,  too." 

Barbara  looked  thoughtful,  but  there  was 
no  pretense  of  not  understanding. 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  said.  She  took  her 
father's  arm,  and  when  they  reached  the 
steps  Erskine  saw  her  smiling.  And  smiling, 
almost  gay,  she  was  at  supper,  sitting  with 
exquisite  dignity  in  her  mother's  place. 
Harry  and  Hugh  looked  amazed,  and  her 
father,  who  knew  the  bit  of  tempered  steel 
she  was,  smiled  his  encouragement  proudly. 
Of  Erskine,  who  sat  at  her  right,  she  asked 
many  questions  about  the  coming  campaign. 
Captain  Clark  had  said  he  would  go  with  a 
hundred  men  if  he  could  get  no  more.  The 
rallying-point  would  be  the  fort  in  Kentucky 


i76  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

where  he  had  first  come  back  to  his  own 
people,  and  Dave  Yandell  would  be  captain 
of  a  company.  He  himself  was  going  as 
guide,  though  he  hoped  to  act  as  soldier  as 
well.  Perhaps  they  might  bring  back  the 
Hair-Buyer,  General  Hamilton,  a  prisoner  to 
vWilliamsburg,  and  then  he  would  join  Harry 
and  Hugh  in  the  militia  if  the  war  came  south 
and  Virginia  were  invaded,  as  some  prophe- 
sied, by  Tarleton's  White  Rangers,  who  had 
been  ravaging  the  Carolinas.  After  supper 
the  little  lady  excused  herself  with  a  smiling 
courtesy  to  go  to  her  mother,  and  Erskine 
found  himself  in  the  moonlight  on  the  big 
portico  with  Colonel  Dale  alone. 

"Erskine,"  he  said,  "you  make  it  very 
difficult  for  me  to  keep  your  secret.  Hugh 
alone  seems  to  suspect — he  must  have  got 
the  idea  from  Grey,  but  I  have  warned  him  to 
say  nothing.  The  others  seem  not  to  have 
thought  of  the  matter  at  all.  It  was  a  boy- 
ish impulse  of  generosity  which  you  may  re- 
gret " 

"Never,"  interrupted  the  boy.  "I  have 
no  use — less  than  ever  now." 

"Nevertheless,"  the   colonel  went  on,   "I 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  177 

regard  myself  as  merely  your  steward,  and 
I  must  tell  you  one  thing.  Mr.  Jefferson,  as 
you  know,  is  always  at  open  war  with  people 
like  us.  His  hand  is  against  coach  and  four, 
silver  plate,  and  aristocrat.  He  is  fighting 
now  against  the  law  that  gives  property  to 
the  eldest  son,  and  he  will  pass  the  bill.  His 
argument  is  rather  amusing.  He  says  if  you 
will  show  him  that  the  eldest  son  eats  more, 
wears  more,  and  does  more  work  than  his 
brothers,  he  will  grant  that  that  son  is  en- 
titled to  more.  He  wants  to  blot  out  all 
distinctions  of  class.  He  can't  do  that,  but 
he  will  pass  this  bill." 

"I  hope  he  will,"  muttered  Erskine. 

"Barbara  would  not  accept  your  sacrifice 
nor  would  any  of  us,  and  it  is  only  fair  that 
I  should  warn  you  that  some  day,  if  you 
should  change  your  mind,  and  I  were  no 
longer  living,  you  might  be  too  late." 

"Please  don't,  Uncle  Harry.  It  is  done — 
done.  Of  course,  it  wasn't  fair  for  me  to 
consider  Barbara  alone,  but  she  will  be  fair 
and  you  understand.  I  wish  you  would  re- 
gard the  whole  matter  as  though  I  didn't 
exist." 


178  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"I  can't  do  that,  my  boy.  I  am  your 
steward  and  when  you  want  anything  you 
have  only  to  let  me  know!"  Erskine  shook 
his  head. 

"I  don't  want  anything — I  need  very 
little,  and  when  I'm  in  the  woods,  as  I  expect 
to  be  most  of  the  time,  I  need  nothing  at  all." 
Colonel  Dale  rose. 

"I  wish  you  would  go  to  college  at  Wil- 
liamsburg  for  a  year  or  two  to  better  fit  your- 
self—in case " 

"I'd  like  to  go — to  learn  to  fence,"  smiled 
the  boy,  and  the  colonel  smiled  too. 

"You'll  certainly  need  to  know  that,  if 
you  are  going  to  be  as  reckjess  as  you  were  to- 
day." Erskine's  eyes  darkened. 

"Uncle  Harry,  you  may  think  me  foolish, 
but  I  don't  like  or  trust  Grey.  What  was  he 
doing  with  those  British  traders  out  in  the 
Northwest  ? — he  was  not  buying  furs.  It's 
absurd.  Why  was  he  hand  in  glove  with 
Lord  Dunmore  ?" 

"Lord  Dunmore  had  a  daughter,"  was  the 
dry  reply,  and  Erskine  flung  out  a  gesture 
that  made  words  unnecessary.  Colonel  Dale 
crossed  the  porch  and  put  his  hand  on  the 
lad's  shoulders. 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  179 

"Erskine,"  he  said,  "don't  worry — and — 
don't  give  up  hope.  Be  patient,  wait,  come 
back  to  us.  Go  to  William  and  Mary.  Fit 
yourself  to  be  one  of  us  in  all  ways.  Then 
everything  may  yet  come  out  in  the  only  way 
that  would  be  fitting  and  right."  The  boy 
blushed,  and  the  colonel  went  on  earnestly: 

"I  can  think  of  nothing  in  the  world  that 
would  make  me  quite  so  happy." 

"It's  no  use,"  the  boy  said  tremblingly, 
"but  I'll  never  forget  what  you  have  just 
said  as  long  as  I  live,  and,  no  matter  what 
becomes  of  me,  I'll  love  Barbara  as  long  as  I 
live.  But,  even  if  things  were  otherwise, 
I'd  never  risk  making  her  unhappy  even  by 
trying.  I'm  not  fit  for  her  nor  for  this  life. 
I'll  never  forget  the  goodness  of  all  of  you  to 
me — I  can't  explain— but  I  can't  get  over  my 
life  in  the  woods  and  among  the  Indians. 
Why,  but  for  all  of  you  I  might  have  gone 
back  to  them — I  would  yet.  I  can't  explain, 
but  I  get  choked  and  I  can't  breathe — such 
a  longing  for  the  woods  comes  over  me  and 
I  can't  help  me.  I  must  go — and  nothing 
can  hold  me." 

"Your  father  was  that  way,"  said  Colonel 


180  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

Dale  sadly.  "You  may  get  over  it,  but  he 
never  did.  And  it  must  be  harder  for  you 
because  of  your  early  associations.  Blow 
out  the  lights  in  the  hall.  You  needn't  bolt 
the  door.  Good  night,  and  God  bless  you." 
And  the  kindly  gentleman  was  gone. 

Erskine  sat  where  he  was.  The  house 
was  still  and  there  were  no  noises  from  the 
horses  and  cattle  in  the  barn — none  from 
roosting  peacock,  turkey,  and  hen.  From 
the  far-away  quarters  came  faintly  the  merry, 
mellow  notes  of  a  fiddle,  and  farther  still  the 
song  of  some  courting  negro  returning  home. 
A  drowsy  bird  twittered  in  an  ancient  elm 
at  the  corner  of  the  house.  The  flowers 
drooped  in  the  moonlight  which  bathed  the 
great  path,  streamed  across  the  great  river, 
and  on  up  to  its  source  in  the  great  yellow 
disk  floating  in  majestic  serenity  high  in  the 
cloudless  sky.  And  that  path,  those  flowers, 
that  house,  the  barn,  the  cattle,  sheep,  and 
hogs,  those  grain-fields  and  grassy  acres, 
even  those  singing  black  folk,  were  all — all 
his  if  he  but  said  the  words.  The  thought 
was  no  temptation — it  was  a  mighty  wonder 
that  such  a  thing  could  be.  And  that  was 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  181 

all  it  was — a  wonder — to  him,  but  to  them  it 
was  the  world.  Without  it  all,  what  would 
they  do  ?  Perhaps  Mr.  Jefferson  might  soon 
solve  the  problem  for  him.  Perhaps  he  might 
not  return  from  that  wild  campaign  against 
the  British  and  the  Indians — he  might  get 
killed.  And  then  a  thought  gripped  him  and 
held  him  fast — he  need  not  come  back.  That 
mighty  wilderness  beyond  the  mountains 
was  his  real  home — out  there  was  his  real  life. 
He  need  not  come  back,  and  they  would 
never  know.  Then  came  a  thought  that  al- 
most made  him  groan.  There  was  a  light 
step  in  the  hall,  and  Barbara  came  swiftly 
out  and  dropped  on  the  topmost  step  with  her 
chin  in  both  hands.  Almost  at  once  she 
seemed  to  feel  his  presence,  for  she  turned  her 
head  quickly. 

"Erskine!"  As  quickly  he  rose,  embar- 
rassed beyond  speech. 

"Come  here !  Why,  you  look  guilty — 
what  have  you  been  thinking?"  He  was 
startled  by  her  intuition,  but  he  recovered 
himself  swiftly. 

"I  suppose  I  will  always  feel  guilty  if  I 
have  made  you  unhappy." 


i82  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"You  haven't  made  me  unhappy.  I  don't 
know  what  you  have  made  me.  Papa  says 
a  girl  does  not  understand  and  no  man  can, 
but  he  does  better  than  anybody.  You  saw 
how  I  felt  if  you  had  killed  him,  but  you  don't 
know  how  I  would  have  felt  if  he  had  killed 
you.  I  don't  myself." 

She  began  patting  her  hands  gently  and 
helplessly  together,  and  again  she  dropped  her 
chin  into  them  with  her  eyes  lifted  to  the 
moon. 

"I  shall  be  very  unhappy  when  you  are 
gone.  I  wish  you  were  not  going,  but  I 
know  that  you  are — you  can't  help  it." 
Again  he  was  startled. 

"Whenever  you  look  at  that  moon  over  in 
that  dark  wilderness,  I  wish  you  would  please 
think  of  your  little  cousin — will  you  ?"  She 
turned  eagerly  and  he  was  too  moved  to 
speak — he  only  bowed  his  head  as  for  a 
prayer  or  a  benediction. 

"You  don't  know  how  often  our  thoughts 
will  cross,  and  that  will  be  a  great  comfort 
to  me.  Sometimes  I  am  afraid.  There  is  a 
wild  strain  on  my  mother's  side,  and  it  is  in 
me.  ;Papa  knows  it  and  he  is  wise — so  wise 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  183 

— I  am  afraid  I  may  sometimes  do  something 
very  foolish,  and  it  won't  be  me  at  all.  It 
will  be  somebody  that  died  long  ago."  She 
put  both  her  hands  over  both  his  and  held 
them  tight. 

"I  never,  never  distrusted  you.  I  trust 
you  more  than  anybody  else  in  the  whole 
world  except  my  father,  and  he  might  be 
away  or" — she  gave  a  little  sob — "he  might 
get  killed.  I  want  you  to  make  me  a  prom- 
ise." 

"Anything,"  said  the  boy  huskily. 

"  I  want  you  to  promise  me  that,  no  matter 
when,  no  matter  where  you  are,  if  I  need  you 
and  send  for  you  you  will  come."  And 
Indian-like  he  put  his  forehead  on  both  her 
little  hands. 

"Thank  you.  I  must  go  now."  Be- 
wildered and  dazed,  the  boy  rose  and  awk- 
wardly put  out  his  hand. 

"Kiss  me  good-by."  She  put  her  arms 
about  his  neck,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life  the  boy's  lips  met  a  woman's.  For  a 
moment  she  put  her  face  against  his  and  at 
his  ear  was  a  whisper. 

"Good-by,  Erskine!"    And  she  was  gone 


184  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

— swiftly — leaving  the  boy  in  a  dizzy  world 
of  falling  stars  through  which  a  white  light 
leaped  to  heights  his  soul  had  never  dreamed. 


XIX 

WITH  the  head  of  that  column  of  stalwart 
backwoodsmen  went  Dave  Yandell  and  Er- 
skine  Dale.  A  hunting-party  of  four  Shawnees 
heard  their  coming  through  the  woods,  and, 
lying  like  snakes  in  the  undergrowth,  peered 
out  and  saw  them  pass.  Then  they  rose,  and 
Crooked  Lightning  looked  at  Black  Wolf 
and,  with  a  grunt  of  angry  satisfaction,  led 
the  way  homeward.  And  to  the  village  they 
bore  the  news  that  White  Arrow  had  made 
good  his  word  and,  side  by  side  with  the  big 
chief  of  the  Long  Knives,  was  leading  a  war- 
party  against  his  tribe  and  kinsmen.  And 
Early  Morn  carried  the  news  to  her  mother, 
who  lay  sick  in  a  wigwam. 

The  miracle  went  swiftly,  and  Kaskaskia 
fell.  Stealthily  a  cordon  of  hunters  sur- 
rounded the  little  town.  The  rest  stole  to 
the  walls  of  the  fort.  Lights  flickered  from 
within,  the  sounds  of  violins  and  dancing 
feet  came  through  crevice  and  window. 
Clark's  tall  figure  stole  noiselessly  into  the 
185 


i86  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

great  hall,  where  the  Creoles  were  making 
merry  and  leaned  silently  with  folded  arms 
against  the  doorpost,  looking  on  at  the  revels 
with  a  grave  smile.  The  light  from  the 
torches  flickered  across  his  face,  and  an  In- 
dian lying  on  the  floor  sprang  to  his  feet  with 
a  curdling  war-whoop.  Women  screamed  and 
men  rushed  toward  the  door.  The  stranger 
stood  motionless  and  his  grim  smile  was  un- 
changed. 

"Dance  on!"  he  commanded  courteously, 
"but  remember,"  he  added  sternly,  "you 
dance  under  Virginia  and  not  Great  Britain  !" 

There  was  a  great  noise  behind  him. 
Men  dashed  into  the  fort,  and  Rocheblave 
and  his  officers  were  prisoners.  By  daylight 
Clark  had  the  town  disarmed.  The  French, 
Clark  said  next  day,  could  take  the  oath  of 
allegiance  to  the  Republic,  or  depart  with 
their  families  in  peace.  As  for  their  church, 
he  had  nothing  to  do  with  any  church  save 
to  protect  it  from  insult.  So  that  the  people 
who  had  heard  terrible  stories  of  the  wild 
woodsmen  and  who  expected  to  be  killed 
or  made  slaves,  joyfully  became  Americans. 
They  even  gave  Clark  a  volunteer  company 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  187 

to  march  with  him  upon  Cahokia,  and  that 
village,  too,  soon  became  American.  Father 
Gibault  volunteered  to  go  to  Vincennes. 
Vincennes  gathered  in  the  church  to  hear  him, 
and  then  flung  the  Stars  and  Stripes  to  the 
winds  of  freedom  above  the  fort.  Clark  sent 
one  captain  there  to  take  command.  With 
a  handful  of  hardy  men  who  could  have  been 
controlled  only  by  him,  the  dauntless  one 
had  conquered  a  land  as  big  as  any  Euro- 
pean kingdom.  Now  he  had  to  govern  and 
protect  it.  He  had  to  keep  loyal  an  alien 
race  and  hold  his  own  against  the  British 
and  numerous  tribes  of  Indians,  bloodthirsty, 
treacherous,  and  deeply  embittered  against 
all  Americans.  He  was  hundreds  of  miles 
from  any  American  troops;  farther  still  from 
the  seat  of  government,  and  could  get  no  ad- 
vice or  help  for  perhaps  a  year. 

And  those  Indians  poured  into  Cahokia 
— a  horde  of  them  from  every  tribe  between 
the  Great  Lakes  and  the  Mississippi — chiefs 
and  warriors  of  every  importance;  but  not 
before  Clark  had  formed  and  drilled  four 
companies  of  volunteer  Creoles. 

"Watch  him !"  said  Dave,  and  Erskine  did, 


i88  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

marvelling  at  the  man's  knowledge  of  the 
Indian.  He  did  not  live  in  the  fort,  but  al- 
ways on  guard,  always  seemingly  confident, 
stayed  openly  in  town  while  the  savages,  sul- 
len and  grotesque,  strutted  in  full  war  pan- 
oply through  the  straggling  streets,  inquisitive 
and  insolent,  their  eyes  burning  with  the  lust 
of  plunder  and  murder.  For  days  he  sat  in 
the  midst  of  the  ringed  warriors  and  listened. 
On  the  second  day  Erskine  saw  Kahtoo  in 
the  throng  and  Crooked  Lightning  and  Black 
Wolf.  After  dusk  that  day  he  felt  the  fringe 
of  his  hunting-shirt  plucked,  and  an  Indian, 
with  face  hidden  in  a  blanket,  whispered  as  he 
passed. 

"Tell  the  big  chief,"  he  said  in  Shawnee, 
"to  be  on  guard  to-morrow  night."  He  knew 
it  was  some  kindly  tribesman,  and  he  wheeled 
and  went  to  Clark,  who  smiled.  Already  the 
big  chief  had  guards  concealed  in  his  little 
house,  who  seized  the  attacking  Indians, 
while  two  minutes  later  the  townspeople  were 
under  arms.  The  captives  were  put  in  irons, 
and  Erskine  saw  among  them  the  crestfallen 
faces  of  Black  Wolf  and  Crooked  Lightning. 
The  Indians  pleaded  that  they  were  trying  to 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  189 

test  the  friendship  of  the  French  for  Clark, 
but  Clark,  refusing  all  requests  for  their  re- 
lease, remained  silent,  haughty,  indifferent, 
fearless.  He  still  refused  to  take  refuge  in 
the  fort,  and  called  in  a  number  of  ladies  and 
gentlemen  to  his  house,  where  they  danced 
all  night  amid  the  council-fires  of  the  bewil- 
dered savages.  Next  morning  he  stood  in  the 
centre  of  their  ringed  warriors  with  the  tas- 
selled  shirts  of  his  riflemen  massed  behind 
him,  released  the  captive  chiefs,  and  handed 
them  the  bloody  war  belt  of  wampum. 

"I  scorn  your  hostility  and  treachery. 
You  deserve  death  but  you  shall  leave  in 
safety.  In  three  days  I  shall  begin  war  on 
you.  If  you  Indians  do  not  want  your 
women  and  children  killed — stop  killing  ours. 
We  shall  see  who  can  make  that  war  belt  the 
most  bloody.  While  you  have  been  in  my 
camp  you  have  had  food  and  fire-water,  but 
now  that  I  have  finished,  you  must  depart  ' 
speedily." 

The  captive  chief  spoke  and  so  did  old 
Kahtoo,  with  his  eyes  fixed  sadly  but  proudly 
on  his  adopted  son.  They  had  listened  to 
bad  birds  and  been  led  astray  by  the  British 


190  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

— henceforth  they  would  be  friendly  with  the 
Americans.  But  Clark  was  not  satisfied. 

"I  come  as  a  warrior,"  he  said  haughtily; 
"I  shall  be  a  friend  to  the  friendly.  If  you 
choose  war  I  shall  send  so  many  warriors 
from  the  Thirteen  Council-Fires  that  your 
land  shall  be  darkened  and  you  shall  hear  no 
sounds  but  that  of  the  birds  who  live  on 
blood."  And  then  he  handed  forth  two  belts 
of  peace  and  war,  and  they  eagerly  took  the 
belt  of  peace.  The  treaty  followed  next  day 
and  Clark  insisted  that  two  of  the  prisoners 
should  be  put  to  death;  and  as  the  two 
selected  came  forward  Erskine  saw  Black 
Wolf  was  one.  He  whispered  with  Clark  and 
Kahtoo,  and  Crooked  Lightning  saw  the  big 
chief  with  his  hand  on  Erskine's  shoulder 
and  heard  him  forgive  the  two  and  tell  them 
to  depart.  And  thus  peace  was  won. 

Straightway  old  Kahtoo  pushed  through 
the  warriors  and,  plucking  the  big  chief  by 
the  sleeve,  pointed  to  Erskine. 

"That  is  my  son,"  he  said,  "and  I  want 
him  to  go  home  with  me." 

"He  shall  go,"  said  Clark  quickly,  "but  he 
shall  return,  whenever  it  pleases  him,  to  me." 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  191 

And  so  Erskine  went  forth  one  morning  at 
dawn,  and  his  coming  into  the  Shawnee  camp 
was  like  the  coming  of  a  king.  Early  Morn 
greeted  him  with  glowing  eyes,  his  foster- 
mother  brought  him  food,  looking  proudly 
upon  him,  and  old  Kahtoo  harangued  his 
braves  around  the  council-pole,  while  the 
prophet  and  Crooked  Lightning  sulked  in 
their  tents. 

"My  son  spoke  words  of  truth,"  he  pro- 
claimed sonorously.  "He  warned  us  against 
the  king  over  the  waters  and  told  us  to  make 
friends  with  the  Americans.  We  did  not  heed 
his  words,  and  so  he  brought  the  great  chief 
of  the  Long  Knives,  who  stood  without  fear 
among  warriors  more  numerous  than  leaves 
and  spoke  the  same  words  to  all.  We  are 
friends  of  the  Long  Knives.  My  son  is  the 
true  prophet.  Bring  out  the  false  one  and 
Crooked  Lightning  and  Black  Wolf,  whose 
life  my  son  saved  though  the  two  were  ene- 
mies. My  son  shall  do  with  them  as  he 
pleases." 

Many  young  braves  sprang  willingly  for- 
ward and  the  three  were  haled  before  Erskine. 
Old  Kahtoo  waved  his  hand  toward  them  and 


i92  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

sat  down.  Erskine  rose  and  fixed  his  eyes 
sternly  on  the  cowering  prophet: 

"He  shall  go  forth  from  the  village  and 
shall  never  return.  For  his  words  work  mis- 
chief, he  does  foolish  things,  and  his  drum- 
ming frightens  the  game.  He  is  a  false  proph- 
et and  he  must  go."  He  turned  to  Crooked 
Lightning: 

"The  Indians  have  made  peace  with  the 
Long  Knives  and  White  Arrow  would  make 
peace  with  any  Indian,  though  an  enemy. 
Crooked  Lightning  shall  go  or  stay,  as  he 
pleases.  Black  Wolf  shall  stay,  for  the  tribe 
will  need  him  as  a  hunter  and  a  warrior 
against  the  English  foes  of  the  Long  Knives. 
White  Arrow  does  not  ask  another  to  spare 
an  enemy's  life  and  then  take  it  away  him- 
self." 

The  braves  grunted  approval.  Black  Wolf 
and  Crooked  Lightning  averted  their  faces 
and  the  prophet  shambled  uneasily  away. 
Again  old  Kahtoo  proclaimed  sonorously, 
"  It  is  well ! "  and  went  back  with  Erskine  to 
his  tent.  There  he  sank  wearily  on  a  buffalo- 
skin  and  plead  with  the  boy  to  stay  with  them 
as  chief  in  his  stead.  He  was  very  old,  and 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  193 

now  that  peace  was  made  with  the  Long 
Knives  he  was  willing  to  die.  If  Erskine 
would  but  give  his  promise,  he  would  never 
rise  again  from  where  he  lay. 

Erskine  shook  his  head  and  the  old  man 
sorrowfully  turned  his  face. 


XX 

AND  yet  Erskine  lingered  on  and  on  ai 
the  village.  Of  the  white  woman  he  hac 
learned  little  other  than  that  she  had  beer 
bought  from  another  tribe  and  adopted  b} 
old  Kahtoo;  but  it  was  plain  that  since  th( 
threatened  burning  of  her  she  had  been  helc 
in  high  respect  by  the  whole  tribe.  He  be- 
gan to  wonder  about  her  and  whether  sh( 
might  net  wish  to  go  back  to  her  own  people 
He  had  never  talked  with  her,  but  he  neve] 
moved  about  the  camp  that  he  did  not  fee 
her  eyes  upon  him.  And  Early  Morn's  bi| 
soft  eyes,  too,  never  seemed  to  leave  him 
She  brought  him  food,  she  sat  at  the  door  oi 
his  tent,  she  followed  him  about  the  village 
and  bore  herself  openly  as  his  slave.  Ai 
last  old  Kahtoo,  who  would  not  give  up  his 
great  hope,  plead  with  him  to  marry  her,  anc 
while  he  was  talking  the  girl  stood  at  the 
door  of  the  tent  and  interrupted  them.  Hei 
mother's  eyes  were  growing  dim,  she  said 

Her  mother  wanted  to  talk  with  White  Ar- 
194 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  195 

row  and  look  upon  his  face  before  her  sight 
should  altogether  pass.  Nor  could  Erskine 
know  that  the  white  woman  wanted  to  look 
into  the  eyes  of  the  man  she  hoped  would  be- 
come her  daughter's  husband,  but  Kahtoo 
did,  and  he  bade  Erskine  go.  His  foster- 
mother,  coming  upon  the  scene,  scowled,  but 
Erskine  rose  and  went  to  the  white  woman's 
tent.  She  sat  just  inside  the  opening,  with  a 
blanket  across  the  lower  half  of  her  face,  nor 
did  she  look  at  him.  Instead  she  plied  him 
with  questions,  and  listened  eagerly  to  his 
every  word,  and  drew  from  him  every  detail 
of  his  life  as  far  back  as  he  could  remember. 
Poor  soul,  it  was  the  first  opportunity  for 
many  years  that  she  had  had  to  talk  with  any 
white  person  who  had  been  in  the  Eastern 
world,  and  freely  and  frankly  he  held  nothing 
back.  She  had  drawn  her  blanket  close  across 
her  face  while  he  was  telling  of  his  capture 
by  the  Indians  and  his  life  among  them,  his 
escape  and  the  death  of  his  father,  and  she 
was  crying  when  he  finished.  He  even  told 
her  a  little  of  Barbara,  and  when  in  turn  he 
questioned  her,  she  told  little,  and  his  own 
native  delicacy  made  him  understand.  She, 


196  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

too,  had  been  captured  with  a  son  who  would 
have  been  about  Erskine's  age,  but  her  boy 
and  her  husband  had  been  killed.  She  had 
been  made  a  slave  and — now  she  drew  the 
blanket  across  her  eyes — after  the  birth  of  her 
daughter  she  felt  she  could  never  go  back  to 
her  own  people.  Then  her  Indian  husband 
had  been  killed  and  old  Kahtoo  had  bought 
and  adopted  her,  and  she  had  not  been  forced 
to  marry  again.  Now  it  was  too  late  to  leave 
the  Indians.  She  loved  her  daughter;  she 
would  not  subject  her  or  herself  to  humili- 
ation among  the  whites,  and,  anyhow,  there 
was  no  one  to  whom  she  could  go.  And 
Erskine  read  deep  into  the  woman's  heart 
and  his  own  was  made  sad.  Her  concern 
was  with  her  daughter — what  would  become 
of  her  ?  Many  a  young  brave,  besides  Black 
Wolf,  had  put  his  heart  at  her  little  feet,  but 
she  would  have  none  of  them.  And  so  Er- 
skine was  the  heaven-sent  answer  to  the 
mother's  prayers — that  was  the  thought  be- 
hmd  her  mournful  eyes. 

All  the  while  the  girl  had  crouched  near, 
looking  at  Erskine  with  doglike  eyes,  and 
when  he  rose  to  go  the  woman  dropped  the 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  197 

blanket  from  her  face  and  got  to  her  feet. 
Shyly  she  lifted  her  hands,  took  his  face  be- 
tween them,  bent  close,  and  studied  it  search- 
ingly: 

"What  is  your  name  ?" 

"Erskine  Dale." 

Without  a  word  she  turned  back  into  her 
tent. 

At  dusk  Erskine  stood  by  the  river's  brim, 
with  his  eyes  lifted  to  a  rising  moon  and  his 
thoughts  with  Barbara  on  the  bank  of  the 
James.  Behind  him  he  heard  a  rustle  and, 
turning,  he  saw  the  girl,  her  breast  throbbing 
and  her  eyes  burning  with  a  light  he  had 
never  seen  before. 

"Black  Wolf  will  kill  you,"  she  whispered. 
"  Black  Wrolf  wants  Early  Morn  and  he  knows 
that  Early  Morn  wants  White  Arrow."  Er- 
skine put  both  hands  on  her  shoulders  and 
looked  down  into  her  eyes.  She  trembled, 
and  when  his  arms  went  about  her  she  surged 
closer  to  him  and  the  touch  of  her  warm, 
supple  body  went  through  him  like  fire.  And 
then  with  a  triumphant  smile  she  sprang  back. 

"  Black  Wolf  will  see,"  she  whispered,  and 
fled.  Erskine  sank  to  the  ground,  with  his 


198  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

head  in  his  hands.  The  girl  ran  back  to  her 
tent,  and  the  mother,  peering  at  the  flushed 
face  and  shining  eyes,  clove  to  the  truth. 
She  said  nothing,  but  when  the  girl  was  asleep 
and  faintly  smiling,  the  white  woman  sat 
staring  out  into  the  moonlit  woods,  softly 
beating  her  breast. 


XXI 

ERSKINE  had  given  Black  Wolf  his  life, 
and  the  young  brave  had  accepted  the  debt 
and  fretted  under,  it  sorely.  Erskine  knew  it, 
and  all  his  kindness  had  been  of  little  avail, 
for  Black  Wolf  sulked  sullenly  by  the  fire  or 
at  his  wigwam  door.  And  when  Erskine  had 
begun  to  show  some  heed  to  Early  Morn  a 
fierce  jealousy  seized  the  savage,  and  his  old 
hatred  was  reborn  a  thousandfold  more  strong 
— and  that,  too,  Erskine  now  knew.  Meat 
ran  low  and  a  hunting-party  went  abroad. 
Game  was  scarce  and  only  after  the  second 
day  was  there  a  kill.  Erskine  had  sighted 
a  huge  buck,  had  fired  quickly  and  at  close 
range.  Wounded,  the  buck  had  charged, 
Erskine's  knife  was  twisted  in  his  belt,  and 
the  buck  was  upon  him  before  he  could  get 
it  out.  He  tried  to  dart  for  a  tree,  stumbled, 
turned,  and  caught  the  infuriated  beast  by 
the  horns.  He  uttered  no  cry,  but  the  angry 
bellow  of  the  stag  reached  the  ears  of  Black 

Wolf   through    the    woods,    and    he    darted 

199 


200  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

toward  the  sound.  And  he  came  none  too 
soon.  Erskine  heard  the  crack  of  a  rifle,  the 
stag  toppled  over,  and  he  saw  Black  Wolf 
standing  over  him  with  a  curiously  triumphant 
look  on  his  saturnine  face.  In  Erskine,  when 
he  rose,  the  white  man  was  predominant,  and 
he  thrust  out  his  hand,  but  Black  Wolf  ig- 
nored it. 

"White  Arrow  gave  Black  Wolf  his  life. 
The  debt  is  paid." 

Erskine  looked  at  his  enemy,  nodded,  and 
the  two  bore  the  stag  away. 

Instantly  a  marked  change  was  plain  in 
Black  Wolf.  He  told  the  story  of  the  fight 
with  the  buck  to  all.  Boldly  he  threw  off 
the  mantle  of  shame,  stalked  haughtily 
through  the  village,  and  went  back  to  open 
enmity  with  Erskine.  At  dusk  a  day  or  two 
later,  when  he  was  coming  down  the  path 
from  the  white  woman's  wigwam,  Black  Wolf 
confronted  him,  scowling. 

"Early  Morn  shall  belong  to  Black  Wolf," 
he  said  insolently.  Erskine  met  his  baleful, 
half-drunken  eyes  scornfully. 

"We  will  leave  that  to  Early  Morn,"  he 
said  coolly,  and  then  thundered  suddenly: 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  201 

"Out  of  my  way!" 

Black  Wolf  hesitated  and  gave  way,  but 
ever  thereafter  Erskine  was  on  guard. 

In  the  white  woman,  too,  Erskine  now  saw 
a  change.  Once  she  had  encouraged  him  to 
stay  with  the  Indians;  now  she  lost  no  op- 
portunity to  urge  against  it.  She  had  heard 
that  Hamilton  would  try  to  retake  Vincennes, 
that  he  was  forming  a  great  force  with  which 
to  march  south,  sweep  through  Kentucky, 
batter  down  the  wooden  forts,  and  force  the 
Kentuckians  behind  the  great  mountain  wall. 
Erskine  would  be  needed  by  the  whites,  who 
would  never  understand  or  trust  him  if  he 
should  stay  with  the  Indians.  All  this  she 
spoke  one  day  when  Erskine  came  to  her  tent 
to  talk.  Her  face  had  blanched,  she  had 
argued  passionately  that  he  must  go,  and 
Erskine  was  sorely  puzzled.  The  girl,  too, 
had  grown  rebellious  and  disobedient,  for  the 
change  in  her  mother  was  plain  also  to  her, 
and  she  could  not  understand.  Moreover, 
Erskine's  stubbornness  grew,  and  he  began 
to  flame  within  at  the  stalking  insolence  of 
Black  Wolf,  who  slipped  through  the  shadows 
of  day  and  the  dusk  to  spy  on  the  two  where- 


202  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

ever  they  came  together.  And  one  day  when 
the  sun  was  midway,  and  in  the  open  of  the 
village,  the  clash  came.  Black  Wolf  darted 
forth  from  his  wigwam,  his  eyes  bloodshot 
with  rage  and  drink,  and  his  hunting-knife 
in  his  hand.  A  cry  from  Early  Morn  warned 
Erskine  and  he  wheeled.  As  Black  Wolf 
made  a  vicious  slash  at  him  he  sprang  aside, 
and  with  his  fist  caught  the  savage  in  the  jaw. 
Black  Wolf  fell  heavily  and  Erskine  was  upon 
him  with  his  own  knife  at  his  enemy's  throat. 

"Stop  them!"  old  Kahtoo  cried  sternly, 
but  it  was  the  terrified  shriek  of  the  white 
woman  that  stayed  Erskine's  hand.  Two 
young  braves  disarmed  the  fallen  Indian,  and 
Kahtoo  looked  inquiringly  at  his  adopted  son. 

"Turn  him  loose!"  Erskine  scorned.  "I 
have  no  fear  of  him.  He  is  a  woman  and 
drunk,  but  next  time  I  shall  kill  him." 

The  white  woman  had  run  down,  caught 
Early  Morn,  and  was  leading  her  back  to  her 
tent.  From  inside  presently  came  low,  pas- 
sionate pleading  from  the  woman  and  an  oc- 
casional sob  from  the  girl.  And  when  an 
hour  later,  at  dusk,  Erskine  turned  upward 
toward  the  tent,  the  girl  gave  a  horrified 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  203 

cry,  flashed  from  the  tent,  and  darted  for  the 
high  cliff  over  the  river. 

"Catch  her  I"  cried  the  mother.  "Quick !" 
Erskine  fled  after  her,  overtook  her  with  her 
hands  upraised  for  the  plunge  on  the  very  edge 
of  the  cliff,  and  half  carried  her,  struggling 
and  sobbing,  back  to  the  tent.  Within  the 
girl  dropped  in  a  weeping  heap,  and  with 
her  face  covered,  and  the  woman  turned  to 
Erskine,  agonized. 

"I  told  her,"  she  whispered,  "and  she  was 
going  to  kill  herself.  You  are  my  son !" 

Still  sleepless  at  dawn,  the  boy  rode  Firefly 
into  the  woods.  At  sunset  he  came  in,  gaunt 
with  brooding  and  hunger.  His  foster-mother 
brought  him  food,  but  he  would  not  touch  it. 
The  Indian  woman  stared  at  him  with  keen 
suspicion,  and  presently  old  Kahtoo,  passing 
slowly,  bent  on  him  the  same  look,  but  asked 
no  question.  Erskine  gave  no  heed  to  either, 
but  his  mother,  watching  from  her  wig- 
wam, understood  and  grew  fearful.  Quickly 
she  stepped  outside  and  called  him,  and  he 
rose  and  went  to  her  bewildered;  she  was 
smiling. 


204  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"They  are  watching,"  she  said,  and  Erskine, 
too,  understood,  and  kept  his  back  toward 
the  watchers. 

"I  have  decided,"  he  said.  "You  and  she 
must  leave  here  and  go  with  me." 

His  mother  pretended  much  displeasure. 
"She  will  not  leave,  and  I  will  not  leave 
her" — her  lips  trembled — "and  I  would  have 
gone  long  ago  but " 

"I  understand,"  interrupted  Erskine,  "but 
you  will  go  now  with  your  sen." 

The  poor  woman  had  to  scowl. 

"No,  and  you  must  not  tell  them.  They 
will  never  let  me  go,  and  they  will  use  me  to 
keep  you  here.  You  must  go  at  once.  She 
will  never  leave  this  tent  as  long  as  you  are 
here,  and  if  you  stay  she  will  die,  or  kill  her- 
self. Some  day — "  She  turned  abruptly  and 
went  back  into  her  tent.  Erskine  wheeled 
and  went  to  old  Kahtoo. 

"You  want  Early  Morn?"  asked  the  old 
man.  "You  shall  have  her." 

"No,"  said  the  boy,  "I  am  going  back  to 
the  big  chief." 

"You  are  my  son  and  ]  I  'am  old  and 
weak." 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  205 

"  I  am  a  soldier  and  must  obey  the  big  chiefs 
commands,  as  must  you." 

"I  shall  live,"  said  the  old  man  wearily, 
"until  you  come  again." 

Erskine  nodded  and  went  for  his  horse. 
Black  Wolf  watched  him  with  malignant 
satisfaction,  but  said  nothing  —  nor  did 
Crooked  Lightning.  Erskine  turned  once  as 
he  rode  away.  His  mother  was  standing 
outside  her  wigwam.  Mournfully  she  waved 
her  hand.  Behind  her  and  within  the  tent 
he  could  see  Early  Morn  with  both  hands  at 
her  breast. 


XXII 

DAWNED  1781. 

The  war  was  coming  into  Virginia  at 
last.  Virginia  falling  would  thrust  a  great 
wedge  through  the  centre  of  the  Confeder- 
acy, feed  the  British  armies  and  end  the 
fight.  Cornwallis  was  to  drive  the  wedge, 
and  never  had  the  opening  seemed  easier. 
Virginia  was  drained  of  her  fighting  men, 
and  south  of  the  mountains  was  protected 
only  by  a  militia,  for  the  most  part,  of  old 
men  and  boys.  North  and  South  ran  despair. 
The  soldiers  had  no  pay,  little  food,  and  only 
old  worn-out  coats,  tattered  linen  overalls, 
and  one  blanket  between  three  men,  to  pro- 
tect them  from  drifting  snow  and  icy  wind. 
Even  the  great  Washington  was  near  despair, 
and  in  foreign  help  his  sole  hope  lay.  Al- 
ready the  traitor,  Arnold,  had  taken  Rich- 
mond, burned  warehouses,  and  returned,  but 
little  harassed,  to  Portsmouth. 

In  April,  "the  proudest  man,"  as  Mr.  Jef- 

206 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  207 

ferson  said,  "of  the  proudest  nation  on  earth/' 
one  General  Phillips,  marching  northward, 
paused  opposite  Richmond,  and  looked  with 
amaze  at  the  troop-crowned  hills  north  of 
the  river.  Up  there  was  a  beardless  French 
youth  of  twenty-three,  with  the  epaulets  of  a 
major-general. 

"He  will  not  cross — hein?"  said  the  Mar- 
quis de  Lafayette.  "Very  well  I"  And  they 
had  a  race  for  Petersburg,  which  the  Britisher 
reached  first,  and  straightway  fell  ill  of  a  fever 
at  "Bollingbrook."  A  cannonade  from  the 
Appomattox  hills  saluted  him. 

"They  will  not  let  me  die  in  peace,"  said 
General  Phillips,  but  he  passed,  let  us  hope, 
to  it,  and  Benedict  Arnold  succeeded  him. 

Cornwallis  was  coming  on.  Tarleton's 
white  rangers  were  bedevilling  the  land,  and 
it  was  at  this  time  that  Erskine  Dale  once 
more  rode  Firefly  to  the  river  James. 

The  boy  had  been  two  years  in  the  wilds. 
When  he  left  the  Shawnee  camp  winter  was 
setting  in,  that  terrible  winter  of  '79 — of 
deep  snow  and  hunger  and  cold.  When  he 
reached  Kaskaskia,  Captain  Clark  had  gone 
to  Kentucky,  and  Erskine  found  bad  news. 


208  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

Hamilton  and  Hay  had  taken  Vincennes. 
There  C  nain  Helm's  Creoles,  as  soon  as  they 
saw  the  >dcoats,  slipped  away  from  him  to 
surrend.  their  arms  to  the  British,  and  thus 
desertec  oy  all,  he  and  the  two  or  three  Ameri- 
cans wi1"  him  had  to  give  up  the  fort.  The 
French  wore  allegiance  to  Britain.  Hamil- 
ton confiscated  their  liquor  and  broke  up 
their  billiard-tables.  He  let  his  Indians  scat- 
ter to  their  villages,  and  with  his  regulars, 
volunteers,  white  Indian  leaders,  and  red 
auxiliaries  went  into  winter  quarters.  One 
band  of  Shawnees  he  sent  to  Ohio  to  scout 
and  take  scalps  in  the  settlements.  In  the 
spring  he  would  sweep  Kentucky  and  destroy 
all  the  settlements  west  of  the  Alleghames. 
So  Erskine  and  Dave  went  for  Clark;  and 
that  trip  neither  ever  forgot.  Storms  had 
followed  each  other  since  late  November 
and  the  snow  lay  deep.  Cattle  and  horses 
perished,  deer  and  elk  were  found  dead  in 
the  woods,  and  buffalo  came  at  nightfall  to 
old  Jerome  Sanders's  fort  for  food  and  com- 
panionship with  his  starving  herd.  Corn 
gave  out  and  no  johnny-cakes  were  baked  on 
long  boards  in  front  of  the  fire.  There  was 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  209 

no  salt  or  vegetable  food;  nothing  but  the 
flesh  of  lean  wild  game.  The  only  fat  was 
with  the  bears  in  the  hollows  of  trees,  and 
every  hunter  was  searching  hollow  trees. 
The  breast  of  the  wild  turkey  served  for  bread. 
Yet,  while  the  frontiersmen  remained  crowded 
in  the  stockades  and  the  men  hunted  and  the 
women  made  clothes  of  tanned  deer-hides, 
buffalo-wool  cloth,  and  nettle-bark  linen,  and 
both  hollowed  "noggins"  out  of  the  knot  of  a 
tree,  Clark  made  his  amazing  march  to  Vin- 
cennes,  recaptured  it  by  the  end  of  February, 
and  sent  Hamilton  to  Williamsburg  a  prisoner. 
Erskine  plead  to  be  allowed  to  take  him  there, 
but  Clark  would  not  let  him  go.  Permanent 
garrisons  were  placed  at  Vincennes  and  Ca- 
hokia,  and  at  Kaskaskia.  Erskine  stayed  to 
help  make  peace  with  the  Indians,  punish 
marauders  and  hunting  bands,  so  that  by  the 
end  of  the  year  Clark  might  sit  at  the  Falls 
of  the  Ohio  as  a  shield  for  the  west  and  a  sure 
guarantee  that  the  whites  would  never  be 
forced  to  abandon  wild  Kentucky. 

The  two  years  in  the  wilderness  had  left 
their  mark  on  Erskine.  He  was  tall,  lean, 
swarthy,  gaunt,  and  yet  he  was  not  all  woods- 


210  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

man,  for  his  born  inheritance  as  gentleman 
had  been  more  than  emphasized  by  his  asso- 
ciation with  Clark  and  certain  Creole  officers 
in  the  Northwest,  who  had  improved  his 
French  and  gratified  one  pet  wish  of  his  life 
since  his  last  visit  to  the  James — they  had 
taught  him  to  fence.  His  mother  he  had  not 
seen  again,  but  he  had  learned  that  she  was 
alive  and  not  yet  blind.  Of  Early  Morn  he 
had  heard  nothing  at  all.  Once  a  traveller 
had  brought  word  of  Dane  Grey.  Grey  was 
in  Philadelphia  and  prominent  in  the  gay 
doings  of  that  city.  He  had  taken  part  in 
a  brilliant  pageant  called  the  "  Mischianza," 
which  was  staged  by  Andre,  and  was  reported 
a  close  friend  of  that  ill-fated  young  gentle- 
man. 

After  the  fight  at  Pi  qua,  with  Clark  Er- 
skine  put  forth  for  old  Jerome  Sanders's 
fort.  He  found  the  hard  days  of  want  over. 
There  was  not  only  corn  in  plenty  but  wheat, 
potatoes,  pumpkins,  turnips,  melons.  They 
tapped  maple-trees  for  sugar  and  had  sown 
flax.  Game  was  plentiful,  and  cattle,  horses, 
and  hogs  had  multiplied  on  cane  and  buffalo 
clover.  Indeed,  it  was  a  comparatively  peace- 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  211 

ful  fall,  and  though  Clark  plead  with  him, 
Erskine  stubbornly  set  his  face  for  Virginia. 

Honor  Sanders  and  Polly  Conrad  had  mar- 
ried, but  Lydia  Noe  was  still  firm  against  the 
wooing  of  every  young  woodsman  who  came 
to  the  fort;  and  when  Erskine  bade  her  good- 
by  and  she  told  him  to  carry  her  love  to  Dave 
Yandell,  he  knew  for  whom  she  would  wait 
forever  if  need  be. 

There  were  many,  many  travellers  on  the 
Wilderness  Road  now,  and  Colonel  Dale's 
prophecy  was  coming  true.  The  settlers  were 
pouring  in  and  the  long,  long  trail  was  now 
no  lonesome  way. 

At  Williamsburg  Erskine  learned  many 
things.  Colonel  Dale,  now  a  general,  was 
still  with  Washington  and  Harry  was  with 
him.  Hugh  was  with  the  Virginia  militia  and 
Dave  with  Lafayette. 

Tarleton's  legion  of  rangers  in  their  white 
uniforms  were  scourging  Virginia  as  they  had 
scourged  the  Carolinas.  Through  the  James 
River  country  they  had  gone  with  fire  and 
sword,  burning  houses,  carrying  off  horses, 
destroying  crops,  burning  grain  in  the  mills, 
laying  plantations  to  waste.  Barbara's 


212  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

mother  was  dead.  Her  neighbors  had  moved 
to  safety,  but  Barbara,  he  heard,  still  lived 
with  old  Mammy  and  Ephraim  at  Red 
Oaks,  unless  that,  too,  had  been  recently 
put  to  the  torch.  Where,  then,  would  he 
find  her  ? 


XXIII 

DOWN  the  river  Erskine  rode  with  a  sad 
heart.  At  the  place  where  he  had  fought 
with  Grey  he  pulled  Firefly  to  a  sudden  halt. 
There  was  the  boundary  of  Red  Oaks  and 
there  started  a  desolation  that  ran  as  far  as 
his  eye  could  reach.  Red  Oaks  had  not  been 
spared,  and  he  put  Firefly  to  a  fast  gallop,  with 
eyes  strained  far  ahead  and  his  heart  beating 
with  agonized  foreboding  and  savage  rage. 
Soon  over  a  distant  clump  of  trees  he  could  see 
the  chimneys  of  Barbara's  home — his  home,  he 
thought  helplessly — and  perhaps  those  chim- 
neys were  all  that  was  left.  And  then  he  saw 
the  roof  and  the  upper  windows  and  the  cap 
of  the  big  columns  unharmed,  untouched,  and 
he  pulled  Firefly  in  again,  with  overwhelming 
relief,  and  wondered  at  the  miracle.  Again  he 
started  and  again  pulled  in  when  he  caught 
sight  of  three  horses  hitched  near  the  stiles. 
Turning  quickly  from  the  road,  he  hid  Firefly 
in  the  underbrush.  Very  quietly  he  slipped 
213 


2i4  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

along  the  path  by  the  river,  and,  pushing 
aside  through  the  rose-bushes,  lay  down  where 
unseen  he  could  peer  through  the  closely 
matted  hedge.  He  had  not  long  to  wait. 
A  white  uniform  issued  from  the  great  hall 
door  and  another  and  another — and  after 
them  Barbara — smiling.  The  boy's  blood 
ran  hot — smiling  at  her  enemies.  Two  offi- 
cers bowed,  Barbara  courtesied,  and  they 
wheeled  on  their  heels  and  descended  the 
steps.  The  third  stayed  behind  a  moment, 
bowed  over  her  hand  and  kissed  it.  The 
watcher's  blood  turned  then  to  liquid  fire. 
Great  God,  at  what  price  was  that  noble 
old  house  left  standing  ?  Grimly,  swiftly  Er- 
skine  turned,  sliding  through  the  bushes  like 
a  snake  to  the  edge  of  the  road  along  which 
they  must  pass.  He  would  fight  the  three, 
for  his  life  was  worth  nothing  now.  He  heard 
them  laughing,  talking  at  the  stiles.  He 
heard  them  speak  Barbara's  name,  and  two 
seemed  to  be  bantering  the  third,  whose 
answering  laugh  seemed  acquiescent  and 
triumphant.  They  were  coming  now.  The 
boy  had  his  pistols  out,  primed  and  cocked. 
He  was  rising  on  his  knees,  just  about  to 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  215 

leap  to  his  feet  and  out  into  the  road,  when  he 
fell  back  into  a  startled,  paralyzed,  inactive 
heap.  Glimpsed  through  an  opening  in  the 
bushes,  the  leading  trooper  in  the  uniform  of 
Tarleton's  legion  was  none  other  than  Dane 
Grey,  and  Erskine's  brain  had  worked  quicker 
than  his  angry  heart.  This  was  a  mystery 
that  must  be  solved  before  his  pistols  spoke. 
He  rose  crouching  as  the  troopers  rode  away. 
At  the  bend  of  the  road  he  saw  Grey  turn 
with  a  gallant  sweep  of  his  tricornered  hat, 
and,  swerving  his  head  cautiously,  he  saw 
Barbara  answer  with  a  wave  of  her  hand- 
kerchief. If  Tarleton's  men  were  around  he 
would  better  leave  Firefly  where  he  was  in 
the  woods  for  a  while.  A  jay-bird  gave  out 
a  flutelike  note  above  his  head;  Erskine 
never  saw  a  jay-bird  perched  cockily  on  a 
branch  that  he  did  not  think  of  Grey;  but 
Grey  was  brave — so,  too,  was  a  jay-bird.  A 
startled  gasp  behind  him  made  him  wheel, 
pistol  once  more  in  hand,  to  find  a  negro, 
mouth  wide  open  and  staring  at  him  from  the 
road. 

"Marse    Erskine!"    he   gasped.      It   was 
Ephraim,   the   boy  who   had   led   Barbara's 


2i6  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

white  ponies  out  long,  long  ago,  now  a  tall, 
muscular  lad  with  an  ebony  face  and  dazzling 
teeth.  "  Whut  you  doin'  hyeh,  suh  ?  Whar' 
yo'  hoss  ?  Gawd,  Fse  sutn'ly  glad  to  see 
yuh."  Erskine  pointed  to  an  oak. 

"Right  by  that  tree.  Put  him  in  the  stable 
and  feed  him." 

The  negro  shook  his  head. 

"No,  suh.  I'll  take  de  feed  down  to  him. 
Too  many  redcoats  messin'  round  heah. 
You  bettah  go  in  de  back  way — dey  might 
see  yuh/' 

"How  is  Miss  Barbara  ?" 

The  negro's  eyes  shifted. 

"She's  well.  Yassuh,  she's  well  as  com- 
mon." 

"Wasn't  one  of  those  soldiers  who  just  rode 
away  Mr.  Dane  Grey?" 

The  negro  hesitated. 

"Yassuh." 

"What's  he  doing  in  a  British  uniform  ?" 

The  boy  shifted  his  great  shoulders  uneasily 
and  looked  aside. 

"I  don't  know,  suh — I  don't  know  nuttin'." 

Erskine  knew  he  was  lying,  but  respected 
his  loyalty. 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  217 

"Go  tell  Miss  Barbara  I'm  here  and  then 
feed  my  horse/' 

"Yassuh." 

Ephraim  went  swiftly  and  Erskine  followed 
along  the  hedge  and  through  the  rose-bushes 
to  the  kitchen  door,  where  Barbara's  faith- 
ful old  Mammy  was  waiting  for  him  with  a 
smile  of  welcome  but  with  deep  trouble  in 
her  eyes. 

"I  done  toP  Miss  Barbary,  suh.  She's 
waitin'  fer  yuh  in  de  hall." 

Barbara,  standing  in  the  hall  doorway, 
heard  his  step. 

"Erskine!"  she  cried  softly,  and  she  came 
to  meet  him,  with  both  hands  outstretched, 
and  raised  her  lovely  face  to  be  kissed. 
"What  are  you  doing  here  ?" 

"I  am  on  my  way  to  join  General  La- 
fayette." 

"But  you  will  be  captured.  It  is  danger- 
ous. The  country  is  full  of  British  soldiers." 

"So%I  know,"  Erskine  said  dryly. 

"When  did  you  get  here  ?" 

"Twenty  minutes  ago.  I  would  not  have 
been  welcome  just  then.  I  waited  in  the 
hedge.  I  saw  you  had  company." 


218  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"Did  you  see  them?"  she  faltered. 

"I  even  recognized  one  of  them."  Bar- 
bara sank  into  a  chair,  her  elbow  on  one  arm, 
her  chin  in  her  hand,  her  face  turned,  her 
eyes  looking  outdoors.  She  said  nothing,  but 
the  toe  of  her  slipper  began  to  tap  the  floor 
gently.  There  was  no  further  use  for  indirec- 
tion or  concealment. 

"Barbara,"  Erskine  said  with  some  stern- 
ness, and  his  tone  quickened  the  tapping  of 
the  slipper  and  made  her  little  mouth  tighten, 
"what  does  all  this  mean?" 

"Did  you  see,"  she  answered,  without 
looking  at  him,  "that  the  crops  were  all  de- 
stroyed and  the  cattle  and  horses  were  all 
gone?" 

"Why  did  they  spare  the  house?"  The 
girl's  bosom  rose  with  one  quick,  defiant  in- 
take of  breath,  and  for  a  moment  she  held  it. 

"Dane  Grey  saved  our  home." 

"How?" 

"He  had  known  Colonel  Tarleton  in  Lon- 
don and  had  done  something  for  him  over 
there." 

"How  did  he  get  in  communication  with 
Colonel  Tarleton  when  he  was  an  officer  in 


ERSKINE  DALE-PIONEER  219 

the  American  army  ?"  The  girl  would  not 
answer. 

"Was  he  taken  prisoner?"  Still  she  was 
silent,  for  the  sarcasm  in  Erskine's  voice  was 
angering  her. 

"He  fought  once  under  Benedict  Arnold — 
perhaps  he  is  fighting  with  him  now." 

"No!"  she  cried  hotly. 

"Then  he  must  be  a " 

She  did  not  allow  him  to  utter  the  word. 

"Why  Mr.  Grey  is  in  British  uniform  is  his 
secret — not  mine." 

"And  why  he  is  here  is — yours." 

"Exactly!"  she  flamed.  "You  are  a  sol- 
dier. Learn  what  you  want  to  know  from 
him.  You  are  my  cousin,  but  you  are  going 
beyond  the  rights  of  blood.  I  won't  stand 
it — I  won't  stand  it — from  anybody." 

"I  don't  understand  you,  Barbara — I  don't 
know  you.  That  last  time  it  was  Grey,  you 
— and  now — "  He  paused  and,  in  spite  of  her- 
self, her  eyes  flashed  toward  the  door.  Er- 
skine  saw  it,  drew  himself  erect,  bowed  and 
strode  straight  out.  Nor  did  the  irony  of 
the  situation  so  much  as  cross  his  mind — that 
he  should  be  turned  from  his  own  home  by  the 


220  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

woman  he  loved  and  to  whom  he  had  given 
that  home.  Nor  did  he  look  back — else  he 
might  have  seen  her  sink,  sobbing,  to  the  floor. 

When  he  turned  the  corner  of  the  house 
old  Mammy  and  Ephraim  were  waiting  for 
him  at  the  kitchen  door. 

"Get  Firefly,  Ephraim!"  he  said  sharply. 

"Yassuh!" 

At  the  first  sight  of  his  face  Mammy  had 
caught  her  hands  together  at  her  breast. 

"You  ain't  gwine,  Marse  Erskine,"  she 
said  tremulously.  "You  ain't  gwine  away  ?" 

"Yes,  Mammy — I  must." 

"You  an*  Miss  Barbary  been  quoilin', 
Marse  Erskine — you  been  quoilin'" — and 
without  waiting  for  an  answer  she  went  on 
passionately:  "Ole  Marse  an*  young  Marse 
an'  Marse  Hugh  done  gone,  de  niggahs  all 
gone,  an'  nobody  lef  but  me  an'  Ephraim — 
nobody  lef  but  me  an'  Ephraim — to  give  dat 
little  chile  one  crumb  o'  comfort.  Nobody 
come  to  de  house  but  de  redcoats  an'  dat  mean 
Dane  Grey,  an'  ev'y  time  he  come  he  leave 
Miss  Barbary  cryin'  her  little  heart  out. 
'Tain't  Miss  Barbary  in  dar — hit's  some  other 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  221 

pusson.  She  ain't  de  same  pusson — no,  suh. 
An'  lemme  tell  yu — lemme  tell  yu — ef  some  o' 
de  men  folks  doan  come  back  heah  somehow 
an'  look  out  fer  dat  little  gal — she's  a-gwine 
to  run  away  wid  dat  mean  low-down  man 
whut  just  rid  away  from  heah  in  a  white  uni- 
form." She  had  startled  Erskine  now  and 
she  knew  it. 

"Dat  man  has  got  little  Missus  plum* 
witched,  I  tell  ye — plum*  witched.  Hit's 
jes  like  a  snake  wid  a  catbird." 

"Men  have  to  fight,  Mammy " 

"I  doan  keer  nothin'  'bout  de  war." 

"I'd  be  captured  if  I  stayed  here " 

"All  I  keer  'bout  is  my  chile  in  dar- 


"But  we'll  drive  out  the  redcoats  and  the 
whitecoats  and  I'll  come  straight  here " 

"An'  all  de  men  folks  leavin'  her  heah  wid 
nobody  but  black  Ephraim  an'  her  ole 
Mammy."  The  old  woman  stopped  her  fiery 
harangue  to  listen: 

"  Dar  now,  heah  dat  ?  My  chile  hollerin' 
fer  her  ole  Mammy."  She  turned  her  un- 
wieldy body  toward  the  faint  cry  that  Er- 
skine's  heart  heard  better  than  his  ears,  and 
Erskine  hurried  away. 


222  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"Ephraim,"  he  said  as  he  swung  upon 
Firefly,  "you  and  Mammy  keep  a  close 
watch,  and  if  Fm  needed  here,  come  for  me 
yourself  and  come  fast." 

"Yassuh.  Marse  Grey  is  sutn'ly  up  to 
some  devilmint  no  which  side  he  fightin'  fer. 
I  got  a  gal  oveh  on  the  aige  o'  de  Grey  planta- 
tion an'  she  tel'  me  dat  Marse  Dane  Grey 
don't  wear  dat  white  uniform  all  de  time." 

"What's  that— what's  that?"  asked  Er- 
skine. 

"No,  suh.  She  say  he  got  an  udder  uni- 
form, same  as  yose,  an'  he  keeps  it  at  her 
uncle  Sam's  cabin  an'  she's  seed  him  go  dar 
in  white  an'  come  out  in  our  uniform,  an' 
aPays  at  night,  Marse  Erskine — al'ays  at 
night." 

The  negro  cocked  his  ear  suddenly: 

"Take  to  de  woods  quick,  Marse  Erskine. 
Horses  comin'  down  the  road." 

But  the  sound  of  coming  hoof-beats  had 
reached  the  woodsman's  ears  some  seconds 
before  the  black  man  heard  them,  and  al- 
ready Erskine  had  wheeled  away.  And  Eph- 
raim saw  Firefly  skim  along  the  edge  of  a 
blackened  meadow  behind  its  hedge  of  low 
trees. 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  223 

"Gawd!"  said  the  black  boy,  and  he  stood 
watching  the  road.  A  band  of  white-coated 
troopers  was  coming  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  and 
at  the  head  of  them  rode  Dane  Grey. 

"Has  Captain  Erskine  Dale  been  here?" 
he  demanded. 

Ephraim  had  his  own  reason  for  being  on 
the  good  side  of  the  questioner,  and  did  not 
even  hesitate. 

"  Yassuh— he  jes'  lef  !  Dar  he  goes  now !" 
With  a  curse  Grey  wheeled  his  troopers.  At 
that  moment  Firefly,  with  something  like 
the  waving  flight  of  a  bluebird,  was  leaping 
the  meadow  fence  into  the  woods.  The 
black  boy  looked  after  the  troopers'  dust. 

"Gawd  I"  he  said  again,  with  a  grin  that 
showed  every  magnificent  tooth  in  his  head. 
"Jest  as  well  try  to  ketch  a  streak  o*  light- 
ning." And  quite  undisturbed  he  turned  to 
tell  the  news  to  old  Mammy. 


XXIV 

UP  the  James  rode  Erskine,  hiding  in  the 
woods  by  day  and  slipping  cautiously  along 
the  sandy  road  by  night,  circling  about  Tarle- 
ton's  camp-fires,  or  dashing  at  full  speed 
past  some  careless  sentinel.  Often  he  was 
fired  at,  often  chased,  but  with  a  clear  road 
in  front  of  him  he  had  no  fear  of  capture. 
On  the  third  morning  he  came  upon  a  ragged 
sentinel — an  American.  Ten  minutes  later 
he  got  his  first  glimpse  of  Lafayette,  and 
then  he  was  hailed  joyfully  by  none  other 
than  Dave  Yandell,  Captain  Dave  Yandell, 
shorn  of  his  woodsman's  dress  and  panoplied 
in  the  trappings  of  war. 

Cornwallis  was  coming  on.  The  boy,  he 
wrote,  cannot  escape  me.  But  the  boy — 
Lafayette — did,  and  in  time  pursued  and 
forced  the  Englishman  into  a  cul-de-sac.  "I 
have  given  his  lordship  the  disgrace  of  a  re- 
treat," said  Lafayette.  And  so — Yorktown  ! 

Late  in  August  came  the  message  that  put 

224 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  225 

Washington's  great  "soul  in  arms/'  Ro- 
chambeau  had  landed  six  thousand  soldiers 
in  Connecticut,  and  now  Count  de  Grasse 
and  a  French  fleet  had  sailed  for  the  Chesa- 
peake. General  Washington  at  once  resorted 
to  camouflage.  He  laid  out  camps  ostenta- 
tiously opposite  New  York  and  in  plain  sight 
of  the  enemy.  He  made  a  feigned  attack  on 
their  posts.  Rochambeau  moved  south  and 
reached  the  Delaware  before  the  British 
grasped  the  Yankee  trick.  Then  it  was  too 
late.  The  windows  of  Philadelphia  were 
filled  with  ladies  waving  handkerchiefs  and 
crying  bravoes  when  the  tattered  Conti- 
nentals, their  clothes  thick  with  dust  but 
hats  plumed  with  sprigs  of  green,  marched 
through  amid  their  torn  battle-flags  and 
rumbling  cannon.  Behind  followed  the 
French  in  "gay  white  uniforms  faced  with 
green,"  and  martial  music  throbbed  the  air. 
Not  since  poor  Andre  had  devised  the  "Mis- 
chianza"  festival  had  Philadelphia  seen  such 
a  pageant.  Down  the  Chesapeake  they  went 
in  transports  and  were  concentrated  at  Wil- 
liamsburg  before  the  close  of  September. 
Cornwallis  had  erected  works  against  the 


226  ERSKINE  DALE-PIONEER 

boy,  for  he  knew  nothing  of  Washington  and 
Count  de  Grasse,  nor  Mad  Anthony  and 
General  Nelson,  who  were  south  of  the  James 
to  prevent  escape  into  North  Carolina. 

"To  your  goodness,"  the  boy  wrote  to 
Washington,  "I  am  owning  the  most  beauti- 
ful prospect  I  may  ever  behold." 

Then  came  de  Grasse,  who  drove  off  the 
British  fleet,  and  the  mouth  of  the  net  was 
closed. 

Cornwallis  heard  the  cannon  and  sent 
Clinton  to  appeal  for  help,  but  the  answer 
was  Washington  himself  at  the  head  of  his 
army.  And  then  the  joyous  march. 

"Tis  our  first  campaign !"  cried  the  French 
gayly,  and  the  Continentals  joyfully  an- 
swered : 

"Tis  our  last!" 

At  Williamsburg  the  allies  gathered,  and 
with  Washington's  army  came  Colonel  Dale, 
now  a  general,  and  young  Captain  Harry 
Dale,  who  had  brought  news  from  Philadel- 
phia that  was  of  great  interest  to  Erskine 
Dale.  In  that  town  Dane  Grey  had  been  a 
close  intimate  of  Andre,  and  that  intimacy 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  227 

had  been  the  cause  of  much  speculation  since. 
He  had  told  Dave  of  his  mother  and  Early 
Morn,  and  Dave  had  told  him  gravely  that 
he  must  go  get  them  after  the  campaign  was 
over  and  bring  them  to  the  fort  in  Kentucky. 
If  Early  Morn  still  refused  to  come,  then  he 
must  bring  his  mother,  and  he  reckoned  grimly 
that  no  mouth  would  open  in  a  word  that 
could  offend  her.  Erskine  also  told  of  Red 
Oaks  and  Dane  Grey,  but  Dave  must  tell 
nothing  to  the  Dales — not  yet,  if  ever. 

In  mid-September  Washington  came,  and 
General  Dale  had  but  one  chance  to  visit 
Barbara.  General  Dale  was  still  weak  from 
a  wound  and  Barbara  tried  unavailingly  to 
keep  him  at  home.  Erskine's  plea  that  he 
was  too  busy  to  go  with  them  aroused  Harry's 
suspicions,  that  were  confirmed  b|y  Barbara's 
manner  and  reticence,  and  he  went  bluntly 
to  the  point: 

"What  is  the  trouble,  cousin,  between  you 
and  Barbara  ?" 

"Trouble?" 

"Yes.  You  wouldn't  go  to  Red  Oaks  and 
Barbara  did  not  seem  surprised.  Is  Dane 
Grey  concerned  ?" 


228  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"Yes." 

Harry   looked   searchingly   at   his   cousin: 

"I  pray  to  God  that  I  may  soon  meet  him 
face  to  face." 

"And  I,"  said  Erskine  quietly,  "pray  to 
God  that  you  do  not — not  until  after  I  have 
met  him  first."  Barbara  had  not  told,  he 
thought,  nor  should  he — not  yet.  And  Harry, 
after  a  searching  look  at  his  cousin,  turned 
away. 

They  marched  next  morning  at  daybreak. 
At  sunset  of  the  second  day  they  bivouacked 
within  two  miles  of  Yorktown  and  the  siege 
began.  The  allied  line  was  a  crescent,  with 
each  tip  resting  on  the  water — Lafayette  com- 
manding the  Americans  on  the  right,  the 
French  on  the  left  under  Rochambeau.  DC 
Grasse,  with  his  fleet,  was  in  the  bay  to 
cut  off  approach  by  water.  Washington  him- 
self put  the  match  to  the  first  gun,  and  the 
mutual  cannonade  of  three  or  four  days  be- 
gan. The  scene  was  "sublime  and  stupen- 
dous." 

Bombshells  were  seen  "crossing  each  other's 
path  in  the  air,  and  were  visible  in  the  form 
of.  a  black  ball  by  day,  but  in  the  night  they 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  229 

appeared  like  a  fiery  meteor,  with  a  blazing 
tail  most  beautifully  brilliant.  They  ascended 
majestically  from  the  mortar  to  a  certain  alti- 
tude and  gradually  descended  to  the  spot 
where  they  were  destined  to  execute  their 
work  of  destruction.  When  a  shell  fell  it 
wheeled  around,  burrowed,  and  excavated 
the  earth  to  a  considerable  extent  and,  burst- 
ing, made  dreadful  havoc  around.  When 
they  fell  in  the  river  they  threw  up  columns 
of  water  like  spouting  monsters  of  the  deep. 
Two  British  men-of-war  lying  in  the  river 
were  struck  with  hot  shot  and  set  on  fire, 
and  the  result  was  full  of  terrible  grandeur. 
The  sails  caught  and  the  flames  ran  to  the 
tops  of  the  masts,  resembling  immense  torches. 
One  fled  like  a  mountain  of  fire  toward  the 
bay  and  was  burned  to  the  water's  edge." 

General  Nelson,  observing  that  the  gunners 
were  not  shooting  at  Nelson  House  because 
it  was  his  own,  got  off  his  horse  and  directed 
a  gun  at  it  with  his  own  hand.  And  at 
Washington's  headquarters  appeared  the  ven- 
erable Secretary  Nelson,  who  had  left  the 
town  with  the  permission  of  Cornwallis  and 
now  "related  with  a  serene  visage  what  had 


23o  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

been  the  effect  of  our  batteries."  It  was 
nearly  the  middle  of  October  that  the  two 
redoubts  projecting  beyond  the  British  lines 
and  enfilading  the  American  intrenchments 
were  taken  by  storm.  One  redoubt  was  left 
to  Lafayette  and  his  Americans,  the  other  to 
Baron  de  Viomenil,  who  claimed  that  his 
grenadiers  were  the  men  for  the  matter  in 
hand.  Lafayette  stoutly  argued  the  superi- 
ority of  his  Americans,  who,  led  by  Hamilton, 
carried  their  redoubt  first  with  the  bayonet, 
and  sent  the  Frenchman  an  offer  of  help. 
The  answer  was: 

"1  will  be  in  mine  in  five  minutes."  And 
he  was,  Washington  watching  the  attack 
anxiously : 

"The  work  is  done  and  well  done." 

And  then  the  surrender: 

The  day  was  the  I9th  of  October.  The 
victors  were  drawn  up  in  two  lines  a  mile 
long  on  the  right  and  left  of  a  road  that  ran 
through  the  autumn  fields  south  of  York- 
town.  Washington  stood  at  the  head  of  his 
army  on  the  right,  Rochambeau  at  the  head 
of  the  French  on  the  left.  Behind  on  both 
sides  was  a  great  crowd  of  people  to  watch 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  231 

the  ceremony.  Slowly  out  of  Yorktown 
marched  the  British  colors,  cased  drums  beat- 
ing a  significant  English  air: 

"The  world  turned  topsyturvy." 
Lord  Corn.vallis  was  sick.  General  O'Hara 
bore  my  lord's  sword.  As  he  approached, 
Washington  saluted  and  pointed  to  General 
Lincoln,  who  had  been  treated  with  indignity 
at  Charleston.  O'Hara  handed  the  sword  to 
Lincoln.  Lincoln  at  once  handed  it  back  and 
the  surrender  was  over.  Between  the  lines 
the  British  marched  on  and  stacked  arms  in 
a  near-by  field.  Some  of  them  threw  their 
muskets  on  the  ground,  and  a  British  colonel 
bit  the  hilt  of  his  sword  from  rage. 

As  Tarleton's  legion  went  by,  three  pairs  of 
eyes  watched  eagerly  for  one  face,  but  neither 
Harry  nor  Captain  Dave  Yandell  saw  Dane 
Grey — nor  did  Erskine  Dale. 


XXV 

To  Harry  and  Dave,  Dane  Grey's  absence 
was  merely  a  mystery — to  Erskine  it  brought 
foreboding  and  sickening  fear.  General  Dale's 
wound  having  opened  afresh,  made  travelling 
impossible,  and  Harry  had  a  slight  bayonet- 
thrust  in  the  shoulder.  Erskine  determined 
to  save  them  all  the  worry  possible  and  to 
act  now  as  the  head  of  the  family  himself. 
He  announced  that  he  must  go  straight  back 
at  once  to  Kentucky  and  Captain  Clark. 
Harry  stormed  unavailingly  and  General 
Dale  pleaded  with  him  to  stay,  but  gave  re- 
luctant leave.  To  Dave  he  told  his  fears 
and  Dave  vehemently  declared  he,  too,  would 
go  along,  but  Erskine  would  not  hear  of  it 
and  set  forth  alone. 

Slowly  enough  he  started,  but  with  every 
mile  suspicion  and  fear  grew  the  faster  and 
he  quickened  Firefly's  pace.  The  distance  to 
Williamsburg  was  soon  covered,  and  skirting 
the  town,  he  went  on  swiftly  for  Red  Oaks. 
Suppose  he  were  too  late,  but  even  if  he  were 
233 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  233 

not  too  late,  what  should  he  do,  what  could 
he  do  ?  Firefly  was  sweeping  into  a  little 
hollow  now,  and  above  the  beating  of  her 
hoofs  in  the  sandy  road,  a  clink  of  metal 
reached  his  ears  beyond  the  low  hill  ahead, 
and  Erskine  swerved  aside  into  the  bushes. 
Some  one  was  coming,  and  apparently  out  of 
the  red  ball  of  the  sun  hanging  over  that  hill 
sprang  a  horseman  at  a  dead  run — black 
Ephraim  on  the  horse  he  had  saved  from 
Tarleton's  men.  Erskine  pushed  quickly  out 
into  the  road. 

"Stop!"  he  cried,  but  the  negro  came 
thundering  blindly  on,  as  though  he  meant 
to  ride  down  anything  in  his  way.  Firefly 
swerved  aside,  and  Ephraim  shot  by,  pulling 
in  with  both  hands  and  shouting: 

"  Marse  Erskine  !  Yassuh,  yassuh  !  Thank 
Gawd  you'se  come."  When  he  wheeled  he 
came  back  at  a  gallop — nor  did  he  stop. 

"Come  on,  Marse  Erskine!"  he  cried. 
"No  time  to  waste.  Come  on,  suh !" 

With  a  few  leaps  Firefly  was  abreast,  and 
neck  and  neck  they  ran,  while  the  darky's 
every  word  confirmed  the  instinct  and  reason 
that  had  led  Erskine  where  he  was. 


234  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"Yassuh,  Miss  Barbary  gwine  to  run  away 
wid  dat  mean  white  man.  Yassuh,  dis  very 
night." 

"When  did  he  get  here?" 

"Dis  mawnin'.  He  been  pesterin'  her  an' 
pleadin'  wid  her  all  day  an'  she  been  cryin' 
her  heart  out,  but  Mammy  say  she's  gwine 
wid  him.  Tears  like  she  can't  he'p  herse'f." 

"Is  he  alone?" 

"No,  suh,  he  got  an  orficer  an*  four  sojers 
wid  him." 

"How  did  they  get  away  ?" 

"He  say  as  how  dey  was  on  a  scoutin' 
party  an'  'scaped." 

"Does  he  know  that  Cornwallis  has  sur- 
rendered?" 

"Oh,  yassuh,  he  tol'  Miss  Barbary  dat. 
Dat's  why  he  says  he  got  to  git  away  right 
now  an'  she  got  to  go  wid  him  right  now." 

"Did  he  say  anything  about  General  Dale 
and  Mr.  Harry?" 

"Yassuh,  he  say  dat  dey's  all  right  an'  dat 
dey  an'  you  will  be  hot  on  his  tracks.  Dat's 
why  Mammy  tol'  me  to  ride  like  de  debbil 
an*  hurry  you  on,  suh."  And  Ephraim  had 
ridden  like  the  devil,  for  his  horse  was  lath- 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  235 

ired  with  foam  and  both  were  riding  that 
vay  now,  for  the  negro  was  no  mean  horse- 
nan  and  the  horse  he  had  saved  was  a 
horoughbred. 

"Dis  arternoon,"  the  negro  went  on,  "he 
vent  ovah  to  dat  cabin  I  tol'  you  'bout  an* 
;ot  dat  American  uniform.  He  gwine  to  tell 
oiks  on  de  way  dat  dem  udders  is  his  pris- 
tners  an'  he  takin'  dem  to  Richmond.  Den 
ley  gwine  to  separate  an'  he  an'  Miss  Bar- 
>ary  gwine  to  git  married  somewhur  on  de 
vay  an'  dey  goin'  on  an'  sail  fer  England, 
er  he  say  if  he  git  captured  folks'll  won't  let 
lim  be  prisoner  o'  war — dey'll  jes  up  an' 
hoot  him.  An'  dat  skeer  Miss  Barbary 
nos'  to  death  an'  he'p  make  her  go  wid  him. 
tfammy  heah'd  ever'  word  dey  say." 

Erskine's  brain  was  working  fast,  but  no 
>lan  would  come.  They  would  be  six  against 
lim,  but  no  matter — he  urged  Firefly  on. 
"he  red  ball  from  which  Ephraim  had  leaped 
lad  gone  down  now.  The  chill  autumn  dark- 
icss  was  settling,  but  the  moon  was  rising 
ull  and  glorious  over  the  black  expanse  of 
rees  when  the  lights  of  Red  Oaks  first 
winkled  ahead.  Erskine  pulled  in. 


236  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"Ephraim!" 

"Yassuh.  You  lemme  go  ahead.  You 
jest  wait  in  dat  thicket  next  to  de  corner  o' 
de  big  gyarden.  I'll  ride  aroun'  through  de 
fields  an*  come  into  the  barnyard  by  de  back 
gate.  Dey  won't  know  I  been  gone.  Den 
I'll  come  to  de  thicket  an*  tell  you  de  whole 
lay  o'  de  land." 

Erskine  nodded. 

"Hurry!" 

"Yassuh." 

The  negro  turned  from  the  road  through  a 
gate,  and  Erskine  heard  the  thud  of  his  horse's 
hoofs  across  the  meadow  turf.  He  rode  on 
slowly,  hitched  Firefly  as  close  to  the  edge  of 
the  road  as  was  safe,  and  crept  to  the  edge  of 
the  garden,  where  he  could  peer  through  the 
hedge.  The  hall-door  was  open  and  the  hall- 
way lighted;  so  was  the  dining-room;  and 
there  were  lights  in  Barbara's  room.  There 
were  no  noises,  not  even  of  animal  life,  and 
no  figures  moving  about  or  in  the  house. 
What  could  he  do  ?  One  thing  at  least,  no 
matter  what  happened  to  him — he  could 
number  Dane  Grey's  days  and  make  this 
night  his  last  on  earth.  It  would  probably 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  237 

be  his  own  last  night,  too.     Impatiently  he 
crawled  back  to  the  edge  of  the  road.     More 
quickly  than  he  expected,  he  saw  Ephraim's 
figure  slipping  through  the  shadows  toward ' 
him. 

"Dey's  jus'  through  supper,"  he  reported. 
"Miss  Barbary  didn't  eat  wid  'em.  She's 
up  in  her  room.  Dat  udder  orficer  been 
stormin'  at  Marse  Grey  an'  hurryin'  him  up. 
Mammy  been  holdin'  de  little  Missus  back 
all  she  can.  She  say  she  got  to  make  like 
she  heppin'  her  pack.  De  sojers  down  dar 
by  de  wharf  playin'  cards  an'  drinkin'.  Dat 
udder  man  been  drinkin'  hard.  He  got  his 
head  on  de  table  now  an'  look  like  he  gone 
to  sleep." 

"Ephraim,"  said  Erskine  quickly,  "go  tell 
Mr.  Grey  that  one  of  his  men  wants  to  see 
him  right  away  at  the  sun-dial.  Tell  him  the 
man  wouldn't  come  to  the  house  because  he 
didn't  want  the  others  to  know — that  he  has 
something  important  to  tell  him.  When  he 
starts  down  the  path  you  run  around  the 
hedge  and  be  on  hand  in  the  bushes." 

"Yassuh,"  and  the  boy  showed  his  teeth  in 
a  comprehending  smile.  It  was  not  long  be- 


238  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

fore  he  saw  Grey's  tall  figure  easily  emerge 
from  the  hall-door  and  stop  full  in  the  light. 
He  saw  Ephraim  slip  around  the  corner  and 
Grey  move  to  the  end  of  the  porch,  doubtless 
in  answer  to  the  black  boy's  whispered  sum- 
mons. For  a  moment  the  two  figures  were 
motionless  and  then  Erskine  began  to  tingle 
acutely  from  head  to  foot.  Grey  came  swiftly 
down  the  great  path,  which  was  radiant  with 
moonlight.  As  Grey  neared  the  dial  Erskine 
moved  toward  him,  keeping  in  a  dark  shadow, 
but  Grey  saw  him  and  called  in  a  low  tone 
but  sharply: 

"Well,  what  is  it  ?"  With  two  paces  more 
Erskine  stepped  out  into  the  moonlight  with 
his  cocked  pistol  at  Grey's  breast. 

"This,"  he  said  quietly.  "Make  no  noise 
— and  don't  move."  Grey  was  startled,  but 
he  caught  his  control  instantly  and  without 
fear. 

"You  are  a  brave  man,  Mr.  Grey,  and  so, 
for  that  matter,  is — Benedict  Arnold." 

"Captain  Grey,"  corrected  Grey  insolently. 

"  I  do  not  recognize  your  rank.  To  me  you 
are  merely  Traitor  Grey." 

"You  are  entitled  to  unusual  freedom  of 
speech — under  the  circumstances." 


'Make  no  noise,  and  don't  move" 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  239 

"I  shall  grant  you  the  same  freedom," 
Erskine  replied  quickly — "  in  a  moment.  You 
are  my  prisoner,  Mr.  Grey.  I  could  lead  you 
to  your  proper  place  at  the  end  of  a  rope, 
but  I  have  in  mind  another  fate  for  you 
which  perhaps  will  be  preferable  to  you  and 
maybe  one  or  two  others.  Mr.  Grey,  I  tried 
once  to  stab  you — I  knew  no  better  and  have 
been  sorry  ever  since.  You  once  tried  to 
murder  me  in  the  duel  and  you  did  know 
better.  Doubtless  you  have  been  sorry  ever 
since — that  you  didn't  succeed.  Twice  you 
have  said  that  you  would  fight  me  with  any- 
thing, any  time,  any  place."  Grey  bowed 
slightly.  "I  shall  ask  you  to  make  those 
words  good  and  I  shall  accordingly  choose  the 
weapons."  Grey  bowed  again.  "Ephraim!" 
The  boy  stepped  from  the  thicket. 

"Ah,"  breathed  Grey,  "that  black  devil!" 

"Ain'  you  gwine  to  shoot  him,  Marse  Er- 
skine?" 

"Ephraim!"  said  Erskine,  "slip  into  the 
hall  very  quietly  and  bring  me  the  two  rapiers 
on  the  wall."  Grey's  face  lighted  up. 

"And,  Ephraim,"  he  called,  "slip  into  the 
dining-room  and  fill  Captain  Kilburn's  glass." 
He  turned  with  a  wicked  smile. 


240  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"Another  glass  and  he  will  be  less  likely  to 
interrupt.  Believe  me,  Captain  Dale,  I  shall 
take  even  more  care  now  than  you  that  we 
shall  not  be  disturbed.  I  am  delighted." 
And  now  Erskine  bowed. 

"I  know  more  of  your  career  than  you 
think,  Grey.  You  have  been  a  spy  as  well 
as  a  traitor.  And  now  you  are  crowning  your 
infamy  by  weaving  some  spell  over  my  cousin 
and  trying  to  carry  her  away  in  the  absence 
of  her  father  and  brother,  to  what  unhappi- 
ness  God  only  can  know.  I  can  hardly  hope 
that  you  appreciate  the  honor  I  am  doing 
you." 

"Not  as  much  as  I  appreciate  your  courage 
and  the  risk  you  are  taking." 

Erskine  smiled. 

"The  risk  is  perhaps  less  than  you  think." 

"You  have  not  been  idle  ?" 

"I  have  learned  more  of  my  father's  swords 
than  I  knew  when  we  used  them  last." 

"I  am  glad — it  will  be  more  interesting." 
Erskine  looked  toward  the  house  and  moved 
impatiently. 

"My  brother  officer  has  dined  too  well," 
noted  Grey  placidly,  "and  the  rest  of  my — er 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  241 

— retinue  are  gambling.  We  are  quite  se- 
cure." 

"Ah!"  Erskine  breathed— he  had  seen  the 
black  boy  run  down  the  steps  with  something 
under  one  arm  and  presently  Ephraim  was 
in  the  shadow  of  the  thicket : 

"Give  one  to  Mr.  Grey,  Ephraim,  and  the 
other  to  me.  I  believe  you  said  on  that  other 
occasion  that  there  was  no  choice  of  blades  ?" 

"Quite  right,"  Grey  answered,  skilfully  test- 
ing his  bit  of  steel. 

"Keep  well  out  of  the  way,  Ephraim," 
warned  Erskine,  "and  take  this  pistol.  You 
may  need  it,  if  I  am  worsted,  to  protect  your- 
self." 

"Indeed,  yes,"  returned  Grey,  "and  kindly 
instruct  him  not  to  use  it  to  protect  you" 
For  answer  Erskine  sprang  from  the  shadow 
— discarding  formal  courtesies. 

"En  garde!"  he  called  sternly. 

The  two  shining  blades  clashed  lightly  and 
quivered  against  each  other  in  the  moonlight 
like  running  drops  of  quicksilver. 

Grey  was  cautious  at  first,  trying  out  his 
opponent's  increase  in  skill: 

"You  have  made  marked  improvement." 


242  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"Thank  you,"  smiled  Erskine. 

"Your  wrist  is  much  stronger." 

"Naturally."  Grey  leaped  backward  and 
parried  just  in  time  a  vicious  thrust  that  was 
like  a  dart  of  lightning. 

"Ah  !    A  Frenchman  taught  you  that." 

"A  Frenchman  taught  me  all  the  little  I 
know." 

"I  wonder  if  he  taught  you  how  to  meet 
this." 

"He  did,"  answered  Erskine,  parrying 
easily  and  with  an  answering  thrust  that 
turned  Grey  suddenly  anxious.  Constantly 
Grey  manoeuvred  to  keep  his  back  to  the 
moon,  and  just  as  constantly  Erskine  easily 
kept  him  where  the  light  shone  fairly  on  both. 
Grey  began  to  breathe  heavily. 

"I  think,  too,"  said  Erskine,  "that  my 
wind  is  a  little  better  than  yours — would  you 
like  a  short  resting-spell  ?" 

From  the  shadow  Ephraim  chuckled,  and 
Grey  snapped: 

"Make  that  black  devil— 

"Keep  quiet,  Ephraim!"  broke  in  Erskine 
sternly.  Again  Grey  manoeuvred  for  the 
moon,  to  no  avail,  and  Erskine  gave  warning : 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  243 

"Try  that  again  and  I  will  put  that  moon 
in  your  eyes  and  keep  it  there."  Grey  was 
getting  angry  now  and  was  beginning  to  pant. 

"Your  wind  is  short,"  said  Erskine  with 
mock  compassion.  "I  will  give  you  a  little 
breathing-spell  presently." 

Grey  was  not  wasting  his  precious  breath 
now  and  he  made  no  answer. 

"Now!"  said  Erskine  sharply,  and  Grey's 
blade  flew  from  his  hand  and  lay  like  a  streak 
of  silver  on  the  dewy  grass.  Grey  rushed 
for  it. 

"Damn  you !"  he  raged,  and  wheeled  furi- 
ously— patience,  humor,  and  caution  quite 
gone — and  they  fought  now  in  deadly  silence. 
Ephraim  saw  the  British  officer  appear  in  the 
hall  and  walk  unsteadily  down  the  steps  as 
though  he  were  coming  down  the  path,  but 
he  dared  not  open  his  lips.  There  was  the 
sound  of  voices,  and  it  was  evident  that  the 
game  had  ended  in  a  quarrel  and  the  players 
were  coming  up  the  river-bank  toward  them. 
Erskine  heard,  but  if  Grey  did  he  at  first  gave 
no  sign — he  was  too  much  concerned  with  the 
death  that  faced  him.  Suddenly  Erskine 
knew  that  Grey  had  heard,  for  the  fear  in  his 


244  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

face  gave  way  to  a  diabolic  grin  of  triumph 
and  he  lashed  suddenly  into  defense — if  he 
could  protect  himself  only  a  little  longer! 
Erskine  had  delayed  the  finishing-stroke  too 
long  and  he  must  make  it  now.  Grey  gave 
way  step  by  step — parrying  only.  The  blades 
flashed  like  tiny  bits  of  lightning.  Erskine's 
face,  grim  and  inexorable,  brought  the  sick 
fear  back  into  Grey's,  and  Erskine  saw  his 
enemy's  lips  open.  He  lunged  then,  his  blade 
went  true,  sank  to  the  hilt,  and  Grey's  warped 
soul  started  on  its  way  with  a  craven  cry  for 
help.  Erskine  sprang  back  into  the  shadows 
and  snatched  his  pistol  from  Ephraim's  hand: 

"Get  out  of  the  way  now.  Tell  them  I 
did  it." 

Once  he  looked  back.  He  saw  Barbara  at 
the  hall-door  with  old  Mammy  behind  her. 
With  a  running  leap  he  vaulted  the  hedge, 
and,  hidden  in  the  bushes,  Ephraim  heard 
Firefly's  hoofs  beating  ever  more  faintly  the 
sandy  road. 


XXVI 

YORKTOWN  broke  the  British  heart,  and 
General  Dale,  still  weak  from  wounds,  went 
home  to  Red  Oaks.  It  was  not  long  before, 
with  gentle  inquiry,  he  had  pieced  out  the 
full  story  of  Barbara  and  Erskine  and  Dane 
Grey,  and  wisely  he  waited  his  chance  with 
each  phase  of  the  situation.  Frankly  he  told 
her  first  of  Grey's  dark  treachery,  and  the 
girl  listened  with  horrified  silence,  for  she 
would  as  :oon  have  distrusted  that  beloved 
father  as  the  heavenly  Father  in  her  prayers. 
She  left  him  when  he  finished  the  story  and 
he  let  her  go  without  another  word.  All  day 
she  was  in  her  room  and  at  «"nset  she  gave 
him  her  answer,  for  she  came  to  him  dressed 
in  white,  knelt  by  his  chair,  and  put  her  head 
in  his  lap.  And  there  was  a  rose  in  her  hair. 

"I  have  never  understood  about  myself 
and — and  that  man,"  she  said,  "and  I  never 
will." 

"I  do,"  said  the  general  gently,  "and  I  un- 
derstand you  through  my  sister  who  was  so 
245 


246  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

like  you.  Erskine's  father  was  as  indignant 
as  Harry  is  now,  and  I  am  trying  to  act 
toward  you  as  my  father  did  toward  her." 
The  girl  pressed  her  lips  to  one  of  his  hands. 

"I  think  I'd  better  tell  you  the  whole  story 
now,"  said  General  Dale,  and  he  told  of  Er- 
skine's father,  his  wildness  and  his  wander- 
ings, his  marriage,  and  the  capture  of  his 
wife  and  the  little  son  by  the  Indians,  all  of 
which  she  knew,  and  the  girl  wondered  why 
he  should  be  telling  her  again.  The  general 
paused: 

"You  know  Erskine's  mother  was  not 
killed.  He  found  her."  The  girl  looked  up 
amazed  and  incredulous. 

"Yes,"  he  went  on,  "the  white  woman 
whom  he  found  in  the  Indian  village  was  his 
mother." 

"Father!"  She  lifted  her  head  quickly, 
leaned  back  with  hands  caught  tight  in  front 
of  her,  looked  up  into  his  face — her  own  crim- 
soning and  paling  as  she  took  in  the  full 
meaning  of  it  all.  Her  eyes  dropped. 

"Then,"  she  said  slowly,  "that  Indian  girl. 
— Early  Morn — is  his  half-sister.  Oh,  oh!" 
A  great  pity  flooded  her  heart  and  eyes. 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  247 

"Why  didn't  Erskine  take  them  away  from 
the  Indians?" 

"His  mother  wouldn't  leave  them."  And 
Barbara  understood. 

"Poor  thing — poor  thing!" 

"I  think  Erskine  is  going  to  try  now." 

"  Did  you  tell  him  to  bring  them  here  ? " 
The  general  put  his  hand  on  her  head. 

"I  hoped  you  would  say  that.  I  did,  but 
he  shook  his  head." 

"Poor  Erskine!"  she  whispered,  vnd  her 
tears  came.  Her  father  leaned  back  and  for 
a  moment  closed  his  eyes. 

"There  is  more,"  he  said  finally.  "Er- 
skine's  father  was  the  eldest  brother — and 
Red  Oaks " 

The  girl  sprang  to  her  feet,  startled,  ago- 
nized, shamed:  "Belongs  to  Erskine,"  she 
finished  with  her  face  in  her  hands.  "God 
pity  me,"  she  whispered,  "I  drove  him  from 
his  own  home." 

"No,"  said  the  old  general  with  a  gentle 
smile.  He  was  driving  the  barb  deep,  but 
sooner  or  later  it  had  to  be  done. 

"Look  here!"  He  pulled  an  old  piece  of 
paper  from  his  pocket  and  handed  it  to  her. 


248  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

Her  wide  eyes  fell  upon  a  rude  boyish  scrawl 
and  a  rude  drawing  of  a  buffalo  pierced  by 
an  arrow: 

"It  make  me  laugh.  I  have  no  use.  I 
give  hole  dam  plantashun  Barbara." 

"Oh!"  gasped  the  girl  and  then — "where 
is  he?" 

"Waiting  at  Williamsburg  to  get  his  dis- 
charge." She  rushed  swiftly  down  the  steps, 
calling: 

"  Ephraim !     Ephraim ! " 

And  ten  minutes  later  the  happy,  grin- 
ning Ephraim,  mounted  on  the  thorough- 
bred, was  speeding  ahead  of  a  whirlwind  of 
dust  with  a  little  scented  note  in  his  battered 
slouch  hat : 

"You  said  you  would  come  whenever  I 
wanted  you.  I  want  you  to  come.  now. 

"BARBARA." 

The  girl  would  not  go  to  bed,  and  the  old 
general  from  his  window  saw  her  like  some 
white  spirit  of  the  night  motionless  on  the 
porch.  And  there  through  the  long  hours 
she  sat.  Once  she  rose  and  started  down  the 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  249 

great  path  toward  the  sun-dial,  moving  slowly 
through  the  flowers  and  moonlight  until  she 
was  opposite  a  giant  magnolia.  Where  the 
shadow  of  it  touched  the  light  on  the  grass, 
she  had  last  seen  Grey's  white  face  and  scarlet 
breast.  With  a  shudder  she  turned  back. 
The  night  whitened.  A  catbird  started  the 
morning  chorus.  The  dawn  came  and  with 
it  Ephraim.  The  girl  waited  where  she  was. 
Ephraim  took  off  his  battered  hat. 

"  Marse  Erskine  done  gone,  Miss  Barbary," 
he  said  brokenly.  "  He  done  gone  two  days." 

The  girl  said  nothing,  and  there  the  old 
general  found  her  still  motionless — the  torn 
bits  of  her  own  note  and  the  torn  bits  of  Er- 
skine's  scrawling  deed  scattered  about  her 
feet. 


XXVII 

ON  the  summit  of  Cumberland  Gap  Er- 
skine  Dale  faced  Firefly  to  the  east  and  looked 
his  last  on  the  forests  that  swept  unbroken 
back  to  the  river  James.  It  was  all  over  for 
him  back  there  and  he  turned  to  the  wilder 
depths,  those  endless  leagues  of  shadowy 
woodlands,  that  he  would  never  leave  again. 
Before  him  was  one  vast  forest.  The  trees 
ran  from  mountain-crest  to  river-bed,  they 
rilled  valley  and  rolling  plain,  and  swept  on 
in  sombre  and  melancholy  wastes  to  the 
Mississippi.  Around  him  were  birches,  pines, 
hemlocks,  and  balsam  firs.  He  dropped  down 
into  solemn,  mysterious  depths  filled  with 
oaks,  chestnuts,  hickories,  maples,  beeches, 
walnuts,  and  gigantic  poplars.  The  sun  could 
not  penetrate  the  leafy-roofed  archway  of 
that  desolate  world.  The  tops  of  the  mighty 
trees  merged  overhead  in  a  mass  of  tent-like 
foliage  and  the  spaces  between  the  trunks 
were  choked  with  underbrush.  And  he  rode 

on  and  on  through  the  gray  aisles  of  the  forest 

250 


ERSKINE  DALE-PIONEER  251 

in  a  dim  light  that  was  like  twilight  at  high 
noon. 

At  Boonesborough  he  learned  from  the  old 
ferryman  that,  while  the  war  might  be  com- 
ing to  an  end  in  Virginia,  it  was  raging  worse 
than  ever  in  Kentucky.  There  had  been 
bloody  Indian  forays,  bloody  white  reprisals, 
fierce  private  wars,  and  even  then  the  whole 
border  was  in  a  flame.  Forts  had  been  pushed 
westward  even  beyond  Lexington,  and  1782 
had  been  Kentucky's  year  of  blood.  Erskine 
pushed  on,  and  ever  grew  his  hopelessness. 
The  British  had  drawn  all  the  savages  of  the 
Northwest  into  the  war.  As  soon  as  the 
snow  was  off  the  ground  the  forays  had  be- 
gun. Horses  were  stolen,  cabins  burned,  and 
women  and  children  were  carried  off  captive. 
The  pioneers  had  been  confined  to  their  stock- 
aded forts,  and  only  small  bands  of  riflemen 
sallied  out  to  patrol  the  country.  Old  Jerome 
Sanders's  fort  was  deserted.  Old  Jerome  had 
been  killed.  Twenty-three  widows  were  at 
Harrodsburg  filing  the  claims  of  dead  hus- 
bands, and  among  them  were  Polly  Conrad 
and  Honor  Sanders.  The  people  were  ex- 
pecting an  attack  in  great  force  from  the 


252  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

Indians  led  by  the  British.  At  the  Blue 
Licks  there  had  been  a  successful  ambush  by 
the  Indians  and  the  whites  had  lost  half  their 
number,  among  them  many  brave  men  and 
natural  leaders  of  the  settlements.  Captain 
Clark  was  at  the  mouth  of  Licking  River 
and  about  to  set  out  on  an  expedition  and 
needed  men. 

Erskine,  sure  of  a  welcome,  joined  him  and 
again  rode  forth  with  Clark  through  the 
northern  wilderness,  and  this  time  a  thousand 
mounted  riflemen  followed  them.  Clark  had 
been  stirred  at  last  from  his  lethargy  by  the 
tragedy  of  the  Blue  Licks  and  this  expedition 
was  one  of  reprisal  and  revenge;  and  it  was 
to  be  the  last.  The  time  was  autumn  and 
the  corn  was  ripe.  The  triumphant  savages 
rested  in  their  villages  unsuspecting  and  un- 
afraid, and  Clark  fell  upon  them  like  a  whirl- 
wind. Taken  by  surprise,  and  startled  and 
dismayed  by  such  evidence  of  the  quick  re- 
birth of  power  in  the  beaten  whites,  the  In- 
dians of  every  village  fled  at  their  approach, 
and  Clark  put  the  torch  not  only  to  cabin 
and  wigwam  but  to  the  fields  of  standing 
corn.  As  winter  was  coming  on,  this  would 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  253 

be  a  sad  blow,  as  Clark  intended,  to  the 
savages. 

Erskine  had  told  the  big  chief  of  his  mother, 
and  every  man  knew  the  story  and  was  on 
guard  that  she  should  come  to  no  harm.  A 
captured  Shawnee  told  them  that  the  Shaw- 
nees  had  got  word  that  the  whites  were  com- 
ing, and  their  women  and  old  men  had  fled 
or  were  fleeing,  all,  except  in  a  village  he  had 
just  left — he  paused  and  pointed  toward  the 
east  where  a  few  wisps  of  smoke  were  rising. 
Erskine  turned:  "Do  you  know  Kahtoo  ?" 

"He  is  in  that  village." 

Erskine  hesitated:  "And  the  white  woman 
—Gray  Dove?" 

"She,  too,  is  there." 

"And  Early  Morn?" 

"Yes,"  grunted  the  savage. 

"What  does  he  say?"  asked  Clark. 

"There  is  a  white  woman  and  her  daugh- 
ter in  a  village,  there,"  said  Erskine,  pointing 
in  the  direction  of  the  smoke. 

Clark's  voice  was  announcing  the  fact  to 
b's  men.  Hastily  he  selected  twenty.  "See 
that  no  harm  comes  to  them,"  he  cried,  and 
dashed  forward.  Erskine  in  advance  saw 


254  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

Black  Wolf  and  a  few  bucks  covering  the  re- 
treat of  some  fleeing  women.  They  made  a 
feeble  resistance  of  a  volley  and  they  too 
turned  to  flee.  A  white  woman  emerged 
from  a  tent  and  with  great  dignity  stood, 
peering  with  dim  eyes.  To  Clark's  amaze- 
ment Erskine  rushed  forward  and  took  her 
in  his  arms.  A  moment  later  Erskine  cried : 

"My  sister,  where  is  she?" 

The  white  woman's  trembling  lips  opened, 
but  before  she  could  answer,  a  harsh,  angry 
voice  broke  in  haughtily,  and  Erskine  turned 
to  see  Black  Wolf  stalking  in,  a  prisoner  be- 
tween two  stalwart  woodsmen. 

"Early  Morn  is  Black  Wolfs  squaw.  She 
is  gone — "  He  waved  one  hand  toward  the 
forest. 

The  insolence  of  the  savage  angered  Clark, 
and  not  understanding  what  he  said,  he  asked 
angrily: 

"Who  is  this  fellow?" 

"He  is  the  husband  of  my  half-sister,"  an- 
swered Erskine  gravely. 

Clark  looked  dazed  and  uncomprehending: 

"And  that  woman  ?" 

"My  mother,"  said  Erskine  gently. 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER  255 

"Good  God  I"  breathed  Clark.  He  turned 
quickly  and  waved  the  open-mouthed  woods- 
men away,  and  Erskine  and  his  mother  were 
left  alone.  A  feeble  voice  called  from  a  tent 
near  by. 

"Old  Kahtoo!"  said  Erskine's  mother. 
"  He  is  dying  and  he  talks  of  nothing  but  you 
— go  to  him !"  And  Erskine  went.  The  old 
man  lay  trembling  with  palsy  on  a  buffalo- 
robe,  but  the  incredible  spirit  in  his  wasted 
body  was  still  burning  in  his  eyes. 

"My  son,"  said  he,  "I  knew  your  voice. 
I  said  I  should  not  die  until  I  had  seen  you 
again.  It  is  well  ...  it  is  well/'  he  repeated, 
and  wearily  his  eyes  closed.  And  thus  Er- 
skine knevr  it  would  be. 


XXVIII 

THAT  winter  Erskine  made  his  clearing  on 
the  land  that  Dave  Yandell  had  picked  out 
for  him,  and  in  the  centre  of  it  threw  up  a 
rude'  log  hut  in  which  to  house  his  mother, 
for  his  remembrance  of  her  made  him  believe 
that  she  would  prefer  to  live  alone.  He  told 
his  plans  to  none. 

In  the  early  spring,  when  he  brought  his 
mother  home,  she  said  that  Black  Wolf  had 
escaped  and  gone  farther  into  the  wilderness 
— that  Early  Morn  had  gone  with  him.  His 
mother  seemed  ill  and  unhappy.  Erskine, 
not  knowing  that  Barbara  was  on  her  way 
to  find  him,  started  on  a  hunting-trip.  In  a 
few  days  Barbara  arrived  and  found  his  mother 
unable  to  leave  her  bed,  and  Lydia  Noe  sit- 
ting beside  her.  Harry  had  just  been  there 
to  say  good-by  before  going  to  Virginia. 

Barbara  was  dismayed  by  Erskine's  ab- 
sence and  his  mother's  look  of  suffering  and 
extreme  weakness,  and  the  touch  of  her  cold 
fingers.  There  was  no  way  of  reaching  her 
356 


To  his  bewilderment  he  found  Barbara  at  his  mother's  bedside 


ERSKINE  DALE-PIONEER  257 

son,  she  said — he  did  not  know  of  her  illness. 
Barbara  told  her  of  Erskine's  giving  her  his 
inheritance,  and  that  she  had  come  to  re- 
turn it.  Meanwhile  Erskine,  haunted  by  his 
mother's  sad  face,  had  turned  homeward. 
To  his  bewilderment,  he  found  Barbara  at 
his  mother's  bedside.  A  glance  at  their  faces 
told  him  that  death  was  near.  His  mother 
held  out  her  hand  to  him  while  still  holding 
Barbara's.  As  in  a  dream,  he  bent  over  to 
kiss  her,  and  with  a  last  effort  she  joined  their 
hands,  clasping  both.  A  great  peace  trans- 
formed her  face  as  she  slowly  looked  at  Bar- 
bara and  then  up  at  Erskine.  With  a  sigh 
her  head  sank  lower,  and  her  lovely  dimming 
eyes  passed  into  the  final  dark. 

Two  days  later  they  were  married.  The 
woodsmen,  old  friends  of  Erskine's,  were  awed 
by  Barbara's  daintiness,  and  there  were  none 
of  the  rude  jests  they  usually  flung  back  and 
forth.  With  hearty  handshakes  they  said 
good-by  and  disappeared  into  the  mighty 
forest.  In  the  silence  that  fell,  Erskine  spoke 
of  the  life  before  them,  of  its  hardships  and 
dangers,  and  then  of  the  safety  and  comfort 
of  Virginia.  Barbara  smiled: 


258  ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

"You  choose  the  wilderness,  and  your 
choice  is  mine.  We  will  leave  the  same 
choice  .  .  ."  She  flushed  suddenly  and  bent 
her  head. 

"To  those  who  come  after  us,"  finished 
Erskine. 

THE  END. 


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Fox  - 


1702     ^rskine  Dale 
£73 


PS 

1702 

E73 


